Harry Potter and the Potential
by julzbobbibroun
Summary: TITLE CHANGED FROM HEMERY SWEETHEART. We all know Harry Potter's life gets turned upside down upon learning about his parents and discovering he is a wizard. However, this time round it gets thrown from the ground, flipped around and pulled inside out when he meets another Chosen One. A young witch destined to become the Slayer, Buffy Summers.
1. Intro

**BOOK ONE:**

Harry Potter and the Potential

_We all know Harry Potter's life gets turned upside down upon learning about his parents and discovering he is a wizard. However, this time round it gets thrown from the ground, flipped around and pulled inside out when he meets another Chosen One. A young witch destined to become the Slayer, Buffy Summers._

___The base of this story follows the plot for _Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone___. Both Harry and Buffy are eleven, so we all know what that means..._

* * *

_Imagine Harry Potter's magical world in which Buffy Summers was adopted from a Muggle orphanage in England by American Muggle couple as a toddler. Who are her real parents? What about her true heritage changes her? How do Slayers and Hellmouths and vampires unfold into the mix? Buffy is a little more Valley Girl, a lot brainier and more like her younger, frivolous, girly self. ____**She has a lot of growing up to do, so she is quite different from the Queen of Slayage we all know – so I guess everything written up until Buffy is called, the whole story will be something akin to a prequel, unto itself.**  
_

_I'm not gonna lie, this version of Buffy Summers is going to have quite the mix of powers inspired from a lot of different sources. Just interpreted into the world of _Harry Potter_ and _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ is all. Oh, and by the way, Buffy won't be getting her Slayer on for quite a while, but she will have a number of underlying Potential abilities and senses, natural to Buffy, that affect her._

_And as for Harry Potter... **there is a lot to come that will be best not spoiled.**_

_Please ignore any time discrepancies. This story jumps all over the place, so pop culture references aren't restricted to the late nineties. I'm pretty much following my own timeline here, nitpicky details be damned. I'm stickler for the little things myself, but I recommend to just go with the flow if you like it. Key word here, IF you like it. And in my opinion, clichés become clichés for a reason. I'm all for the big stink of cheesy cheesiness._

_I've stolen (liberated) a whole lot of ideas from random places and other FanFics, so there will be plenty of winks, nods and shout outs to pick through and enjoy!_

* * *

Disclaimer: This is a piece of _FanFiction_, don't know why people bother with this...

Pairings: Well, seeing as everyone is like way young at this point, this is kinda pointless too. There will definitely some later though.

Warning: Creative license people! I shall be doing whatever I please, as I see fit. The story will most likely follow Buffy at bit more than Harry so I don't have to rewrite the entire novels myself – so I reckon whilst reading you should imagine that you are simultaneously reading the books, taking in the changes here and there. And if you do actually intend on reading past this page, be prepared to soak up the lameness and the predictability of what has probably been done too many times before for it to be all that original. Embrace the cheese!

I plan on making this story the first of the series, with the main arcs centred around the _Harry Potter_ books. But I'll adding bits of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ all over the place and random additions willy-nilly too. Haven't decided on whether or not I'm going to continue after the seventh. We'll just have to wait and see how long my attention to this holds.


	2. Owls and Postmen

**BEGINNING OF JANUARY**

A petite woman in her early twenties was sitting in an armchair next to a mellow fire. In her small lap was an infant, blue-grey eyes wide awake and tiny, chubby arms fidgeting, not making any noise. She had in one of her slender hands a strangely written letter, and in her other a golden locket.

_My Most Dreadful Sister,_

_I have to inform you that I will very likely be in the Colonies long before you read this. My boss has rewarded me with some vacation time for all my hard work at the office._

_I have discovered some lovely news about a mutual friend of ours. He has committed an absolute greatness of goodness, almost as wonderful as he did you._

_Our most loyal butler was the key to finding out this piece of information. Your favourite person in the world has healed his soul as only a gentleman like himself would find a way and chose to do so._

_I know we would both somewhat like things to change for your new pet hatchling, but now that I will no longer be in town, it is up to you to _assemble_ my package. It isn't really of the utmost importance, but should probably be done eventually._

_I am unsure whether you have or have not already realised, due to you rather inadequate intelligence, what lies beneath its cheap wrappings. Something old and unwanted that I have given to you to take care of. Do what you want, safety be damned._

_Spite and Loathing,_

_The Eldest Whiteley_

The letter was obviously coded, moderately well done and more or less vague. Considering her direly important covert living situation and the confusion and terror that was currently running rampant nationwide, it was a good enough job.

'The Colonies' – she wanted to laugh at that. The person who wrote this letter always used to say that it was better to be pushing up daisies than to hang around those bloody Colonials! He tended to rank Americans on a level in between half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Though funny a statement it was, sadly, the hidden meaning conveyed in the letter meant that he was indeed dead.

This letter's stratagem of using not too subtle opposites to hide its true meaning wasn't at all original or unbreakable. However, the way in which the writing was planned got its intended message across and would confuse most interceptors. Thankfully it shouldn't have been easily caught because it was sent through the British postal service.

She had long ago finished reading the letter delivered to her by a uniformed postman, yet she hadn't stopped staring at its fountain pen – because God forbid he use a regular ballpoint pen like any other commoner whilst having to utilise Muggle writing contraptions – written contents. If what he mentioned was true, then she would have to return to the world she fled from nearly two years ago.

* * *

**TWENTIETH OF JANUARY**

Regina Bl– nope, not any more. Anne Whiteley was walking through snowy streets on the outskirts of London. Delicate flakes descended from the sky, onto her heavy white cloak, at a rapidly increasing pace. The piercing wind surrounding Anne was becoming sharper by the minute. A heavy blizzard was well on the way.

It was a cold night in the middle of winter. The woman named Anne's diminutive figure was walking hastily toward a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. She was hunched over, carefully protecting the tiny bundle in her arms from the harsh elements.

Anne made her way through a set of iron gates, ignoring the painful whipping of the wind against her ethereal, porcelain face. She was dressed head-to-toe in white, shivering in an array of Muggle and wizard clothing. Her ivory, turtleneck sweater dress was soft and snug and her powder-coloured stockings, woollen and flexible.

Anne's formfitting, thigh-high boots matched the sleet around her and clicked on the grey pavement as she neared her desired location. An out of the way orphanage in Muggle London. A place so perfectly plain and ordinary that it was sure to be secure, far enough away from the wizarding world.

That late January was proving to be troubling for Regin– wait, stop, Anne Whiteley. She had been informed of the recent death of her younger brother and a terrible truth about a man she was once captivated by. Disturbingly, it was the man who once held her notoriously difficult to obtain attention that was to blame for her brother's untimely demise.

Anne now had a job to do. A task she, for the moment, was miserably failing at. Anne received a letter some weeks ago from her baby brother, the only sibling of hers that she had been in touch with since fleeing her home and being on the run.

Anne's younger brother had already been deeply immersed in the thick of the mess she so arrogantly got into, himself. Her brother was a follower – in the later of days, his devoutness steadily shying away because of a growing reluctance that initially sprouted after finding out frightful facts behind the most hidden of heinous secrets – of the madman behind her abrupt departure, until he discovered something horrific. His ruthless leader, a man Anne was somewhat involved with over two years ago, had created for himself artificial immortality.

The locket, in which Anne was entrusted to destroy, was a Horcrux. A Dark magical object that her former lover, no, – he was incapable of love – occasional companion stored a fragment of his soul. The man had gone so far in his quest for eternal life that he ripped apart his soul and put a piece of it in a locket.

Anne knew of his monstrous fears of death but was never aware that the man who was in her life was willing to go so far. On second thought, who the hell was she kidding? Of course she was well aware what kind of person he was. She was just so curious, egotistical and self-involved that she was able to ignore it.

Anne had a chance to make up for her idiotic actions and avenge her brother's death, and she would achieve that by destroying her past partner's Horcrux. First things first, however, she had to ensure the safety of the one good thing that came out of her unsavoury relationship with that bigoted megalomaniac. Her one year-old daughter.

* * *

**THIRTY-FIRST OF OCTOBER**

In a secluded West Country village, orange and brown leaves were scattered along the ground. Excitedly squealing groups of children were being escorted by hassled-looking adults. The kids were sporting colourful costumes and travelling door to door. They had wide, eager grins plastered on their sugar coated faces and were collecting sweets from their neighbours.

The already navy sky was gradually turning an inky black, the night's first stars feebly glimmering up above. Golden streetlights were glowing a muted yellow. Cottages stood on either side of the small hamlet's narrow roads, carved pumpkins and festive, spooky decorations displayed on their front yards and welcoming porches.

At the end of a dark street leading out of the village, a solitary figure – wearing sweeping robes and hidden underneath an ominous, billowing cloak – was walking with purpose. It was making its way past a white picket fence and trimmed hedges, approaching a quaint, handsome cottage.

The cottage was partially covered by creeping ivy vines. Its inhabitants were a young couple, never not seen doting on their precious son. Their energetically giggling one year old was hovering two feet above the ground, zooming around the living room, riding what could only be described as a miniature broomstick.

"Harry dear, please slow down," fretted a woman with willowy red hair. "You'll break another vase!"

The ginger's husband, a man wearing round, wire-rimmed glasses, was cheerfully laughing. "Please Lils, you hated that vase Harry broke."

"That device is a weapon of mass destruction James! We shouldn't be letting him use it inside the house."

"Don't worry honey. Remember, we've already packed away all the ornaments."

"I'm going to kill Sirius the next time I see him. He nearly killed the cat on that thing!"

"...At least all of the ornaments not given to us as gifts by your _lovely_ and _oh so thoughtful_ sister Petunia," the man added cheekily, decidedly overlooking his wife's fussing. James's hazel eyes were filled with mirthful humour.

The woman was chasing around their son Harry, who was looking pleased with himself as he urged the toy broomstick hitched between his little legs to carry him faster. The boy's father was comfortably lounged on a cushy couch. He was watching the spectacle with a proud look on his thin face.

"Let him enjoy Padfoot's birthday present Lil. Our little chap is just showing us what a great Quidditch player he's going to make someday."

The cheerful man started reminiscing about being a Chaser during his days at Hogwarts. The memories caused James to subconsciously run his hands through his forever messy, jet-black hair. An old habit of his.

"When Harry starts Hogwarts, the Gryffindor team won't know what hit them!"

The corners of the mother's brilliant green eyes crinkled from her grinning widely at her husband. Lily had forgotten how often James used to rumple his hair for no reason, other than to appear cool and windswept in front of his classmates. She thought of him as such a big-headed tosser back then.

"James!" Lily laughed. Yes. He was quite the arrogant toerag, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoyed him just because he could. Lily was glad James eventually managed to deflate his Hippogriff-sized head, enabling her to see what kind of person he really was. The man she loved.

The married couple were engaged in happy, familial banter. They were merrily playing off each other, joking about the humungous ego James had before their seventh year at school and Harry's destructive tendencies with his toy broom, when their front door creaked open.

After months of cunning schemes and carefully laid plans, Lord Voldemort was finally able to prevent that pesky prophecy from coming to fruition. The foreboding figure had successfully located and entered their home.

"James," said Lily again, only this time she spoke softly. Concern was etched across her fair features.

James nodded. "I heard it too. I'll go check what it is."

Harry was wearing a joyful expression but also being very quiet, like he knew something was wrong. He let his mother pick him up while his father left the room to check out the disturbance. It was rare for the Potters to have visitors in the present climate of suspicion and distrust. They were in hiding and only a select few even knew their location.

Lily and James Potter weren't expecting anyone. Because of the great danger their family was in, nobody dropped by unannounced. The life of their son was in jeopardy because of a powerful Dark wizard. That was why they had to be extra cautious every second of every minute.

James could be heard from down the hall. "Lily, take Harry and go!" His voice sounded panicked but resolute. "It's him. Go! Run! I'll hold him off –"

Lily's almond-shaped eyes widened and she sprinted up the stairs with baby Harry clutched to her chest. James was blocking this unnaturally pale, menacing man from getting to his family. His hand reached for his pocket, his empty pocket. James had left his mahogany wand in the living-room. He was defenceless.

Before James had the chance to say or do anything, Voldemort raised the hand gripping his own wand crafted from yew. A bright, green light was aimed at James and he collapsed. He crumpled into a heap on the floor with glassy eyes, the last look on his face one of surprise and determination.

Lily heard the sounds of someone stumbling from downstairs. She desperately hoped James was alright. Lily had nearly closed the door of Harry's nursery; however, a looming, pale figure stopped her. Finished with the obstacle that was James Potter, the Dark Lord advanced on his intended target.

The door burst open with an indolent wave of his wand. Lord Voldemort was going to make a swift job of this. It was a shame that magical blood had to be spilt for the greater good, but this child was not going to stop him from eradicating all of the Mudblood scum and Muggle filth that dared to contaminate the planet.

Lily was terrified for her son. She realised too late that she didn't have her wand on her. Lily left her best chance of escape elsewhere.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

Voldemort laughed coldly at the fraught, sobbing Mudblood. "Stand aside, you silly girl ... stand aside, now ..."

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –"

Voldemort was looking down at this dirty Muggle-born woman with disgust. She defiled a perfectly healthy, unblemished pure-blood line when she married James Potter. Just like his own filthy, Muggle father had done. Perhaps this was the reason why he chose the Potter child instead of that Longbottom boy. The Dark Lord secretly identified with the vile taint of dirty blood that plagued them both.

"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –" Lily cried.

"Stand aside – stand aside, girl –"

"Not Harry!" She continued pleading. "Please ... have mercy ... have mercy ..." Lily knew that Voldemort was not going to listen to her. She frantically spun on the spot, thick crimson locks flying through the air. Lily placed her son carefully but speedily in the crib behind her.

She turned back to face the man with the horrific, scarlet glare. Lily's arms were spread back, over the bars of the crib. Although she knew that in all likelihood her move would be useless, Lily was using her body as a shield to protect Harry.

The Dark Lord once again let out his chilling, high-pitched cackle. Foolish woman. She wasn't even going to use a wand to defend herself. What simpleminded, pathetic excuses for witches and wizards, Mudbloods claimed to be. Voldemort pointed his long wooden stick at the woman.

The dirty-blooded Potter spouse was the final piece of trash in his way to stopping that prophecy. _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches_. Voldemort was going to see about that. Once this child _Born to those who have thrice defied him_ was eradicated, little left would be able to stop him. Soon, not even the old fool with his silly ideals would be able to.

_I am Lord Voldemort_. It was preposterous that this infantile boy will grow up to be the reason behind his ultimate downfall. He wasn't going to be defeated. Lord Voldemort wasn't going to die. Not to this child, not to anyone. Death was for lesser mortals, not the Dark Lord.

The ominously cloaked man cast another stream of blinding green light with his phoenix feather core wand. Lily let out a pleading scream with her final breath. Like her husband downstairs, she became a pile of lifeless limbs in a motionless heap on the floor. Lily Potter was dead.

Voldemort stepped closer to the little boy. Harry Potter stared innocently up at him, large green eyes confused and blinking rapidly. The infant wasn't crying or moving, just staring. Well... this was going to be easy...

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

* * *

A blazing green light burst through a quaint cottage's curtain-drawn windows. An unnatural, high-pitched scream could be heard throughout an entire hamlet as the second story of that cottage blew up. A one year old boy was alone and wailing in his cot. Blood was issuing out of a newly formed, lightning bolt shaped scar.

Half a mile away, a tawny owl with a rolled up, concisely written letter attached to its leg was soaring through the sky to that destroyed, dilapidated cottage in the secluded town of Godric's Hollow. The owl didn't know that the recipient of the mail it was carrying was dead.


	3. Professor Simms

**NEARLY TEN YEARS LATER**

Buffy Summers woke up to the sound of conversing adults in the house. The voices of her parents and an effeminate sounding stranger drifted upstairs to her boy band and Dorothy Hamill poster covered bedroom. Must be important, with all of the noise they were making.

She rolled over in her soft, squishy double bed and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It was a good one. Way better than her usual nightmares about random girls killing monsters with crossbows, swords and stakes – Buffy had dreamt about such things for as long as she could remember but didn't know why and would've preferred not to. This dream had a flying motorbike in it and was funnily familiar, like she'd had it before.

Buffy reached for a neon pink elastic band on her nightstand and put her blonde, waist-length hair into a high ponytail. A quick glance at her fuzzy alarm clock told her it was late in the morning. Buffy was thankful that she was still on summer vacation. For her it was going to be another day of sandy beaches and shoe shopping in sunny California.

After her standard forty minute shower regimen, brushing her pearly whites and a change of clothes, Buffy made her way to the living-room, curious about their houseguest. She was met with a bizarre sight – which was definitely saying something for a kid who was raised amongst the crazed LA crazies in the good old US-of-A.

Sitting on the couch and chatting with her parents was an eccentrically dressed woman. The middle-aged lady was wearing shimmering, silver robes, a majestic, black cape and slick purple boots made of a material Buffy had never seen before. They were scaly and glistened unnaturally in the light. It wasn't by any means the strangest getup Buffy had seen living in Los Angeles, but it was still an unusual way of dress.

"Morning parental units," Buffy said brightly. "What's with the who in the living-room?"

Hank Summers was sitting quietly, blankly staring at the wall. His wife Joyce was calmly seated next to him and saw that their daughter was finally awake. She smiled at Buffy and began making introductions.

"Honey, this Sabrina Simms. She has something very important to tell you."

"Really? Important and stuff? Can it be quick-ish? I'm going over to Stacy's house to do vital girly things before we go to the mall today," Buffy said annoyed, settling on a seat opposite her parents and Sabrina Simms.

Mrs Summers noticed that her daughter's hazel-green eyes were deeply uninterested. "Honey, we've already called Stacy's mom to tell her that you can't come over today. We have something important to tell you."

"That is so not fair!"

"Sweetie, please," Joyce pleaded. Buffy was a stubborn child.

"Fine," she huffed, her arms crossed. "Whatever."

There was an awkward silence between the Summers family and the oddly dressed woman in the living-room before Sabrina Simms decided to speak up. Sabrina faced Buffy with a friendly but serious expression.

"Miss Summers, as your mom told me, my name is Sabrina, but at my school, I am known as Professor Simms."

"So you're all smarticle and professor-y and stuff," Buffy said casually, before the cogs in her brain started to click into place. Her tone became anxious. "But you're like, not here to take me away and lock me in some nerdo genius school for the summer are you? Because I promise you, I am really not that smart!"

Buffy Summers was a constantly flippant eleven year old with a very short attention span. At the end of the school year she had amassed exaggeratedly varying academic results, which led to a lot of questions raised by Hemery Primary School.

Hemery suggested to Mr and Mrs Summers that Buffy take some tests before summer vacation began. Buffy spent the whole last week of fifth grade in an isolated classroom and cut off from all of her friends, forced to sit a variety of examinations. By the time school was out the results were in, indicating a genius level intellect.

Buffy was classed as a potential intellectual child prodigy by a number of reputable academic institutions that were cross-checking her results. Hank and Joyce Summers were recommended that their daughter skip a grade or two for the following year, until an ultimately conclusive decision concerning her future was made. Something Buffy was unhappy about, wanting to fit in and be like everyone else.

Mr and Mrs Summers were proud of Buffy but she insisted that she was an average girl. She didn't want her friends to know that she was freakishly smart. They would call her a geek and cast her out of their exclusive group of popularity. Buffy just wanted to shop, gossip and make the cheerleading squad come grade school.

Buffy prattled on. "Because I swear, the results on that IQ test were totally like, a total fluke or something."

Sabrina and Joyce laughed at Buffy's admission. Mr Summers was still not speaking and gazing elsewhere.

"Oh my little Pumpkin-Belly," Joyce cooed. "Just listen to what Professor Simms has to say."

"Ohhh-kay," she said hesitantly.

"Buffy, I work at a special school in Massachusetts called the Salem Witches' Institute."

"Salem and magic, seriously? As in witch burnings and bunnies and top hats?" Buffy giggled. On the outside, she looked convincingly dismissive. How Buffy felt on the inside was an entirely different matter.

Buffy always knew that she was different. From a young age, unexplained things had a tendency to happen around her. If she was mad, lights would flicker and glass would break. When her Dorothy Hamill haircut ended in disaster, her sunshine streaks were mysteriously grown back overnight.

Buffy eventually taught herself to control those erratic supernatural outbursts. She was worried that her parents wouldn't want her anymore and send her back to the orphanage they adopted her from in England. Buffy thought that her dad, at the least, would want to if he found out she was a freak. He was a conventional man and didn't like or accept things that weren't of the norm.

"I assure you, I'm being completely serious. Not about the bunnies and the top hats. The burnings were merely an annoyance, rather than an actual issue, during those ghastly witch trial days. About the school of magic I teach at, I promise you that I'm being serious. I can say this because we are both witches, Buffy. I am like you."

"Really?" she stated rhetorically. "I like, seriously doubt that."

For the first time in years, Buffy lost total control. This woman didn't know what she was talking about. She couldn't possibly know what it was like to grow up with all of these secrets and unexplained powers. To have to be in perfect control of every move she made. Buffy constantly had to either try make sense of or fend off every single thought that attacked her brain, because they weren't always her own.

This woman, this 'witch' was nothing like her. And she certainly wasn't going to take Buffy away from her family. She refused to lose her mom and dad because they found out she was different, put in a position where they would stop loving her. Buffy didn't want to have to surrender the great life she had and her friends.

All of her worst fears could come to life right then, just because Buffy was even more of a freak than they already knew, and this odd lady thought she was a witch.

Buffy's glossy bottom lip trembled as picture frames shook and lamp shades rattled. Every non-sentient object was now animate. Windows around the house shattered and ceramic vases crumbled into mounds of dust.

Outside the Summers' house, cars began to levitate. They remained hanging, swinging and suspended in mid-air like marionettes. Buffy's emerald doe eyes intensely bored into Sabrina Simm's warm brown ones.

Sabrina saw the way the young girl's green gaze was piercing through her, causing random memories to swirl around in her mind. Her brain felt prickly and familiar flashes rose to the surface of her consciousness. Not too long later, Buffy's eyes somewhat relaxed.

Buffy Summers had successfully used Legilimency. Sabrina was beyond startled. A child of Buffy's age having this much control over her magical abilities – which seemed to be used with a scary volatility – was astounding. Add to that, an untrained witch being an adept Legilimens was unheard of. Few qualified wizards of age were capable of delving into others' minds, able to interpret thoughts and feelings correctly.

"Well Miss Summers, after that little display, I'm sure you will have no trouble believing my earlier statement."

Buffy began stammering for the first time in her life. She knew that she could do some weird things, but witchcraft was kinda way out there. "I-I don't, I don't know. Ho-h-how is this possible? "I think y-you mus-must have made a mi-mistake. I don't think I can be a w-wit-witch."

"I know what you were doing when you looked into my eyes, Buffy. You know that I'm telling you the truth," Sabrina Simms said, with the slightest hint of timidity. This child was abnormally intimidating.

Buffy was aware and now sure that Sabrina Simms wasn't lying. She had seen enough in the woman's mind and knew those thoughts not to be false. Although the eleven year old's tiny figure was still rigid, she was far less tense than she was before.

The hovering vehicles outside gently descended onto faded asphalt and inanimate objects were once again motionless throughout the house. Floating glass shards softly clattered onto the floor and a suede armchair in the corner of the living-room was no longer disintegrating into powder like the vases.

Ever since being able to manage the strange things she made happen, Buffy could levitate objects at will. She discovered that she had the power to turn random luck to her favour, controlling the almost fictitious occurrences Buffy knew she caused.

Little over a year ago, Buffy's mind reading abilities manifested themselves. Although she wouldn't describe what she was able to do as reading, per se. Buffy could sense feelings and falsehoods, observe others' deepest buried memories if she concentrated hard enough. It was interesting to have an insight like this, but it was a gift she couldn't ever completely turn off.

At first attempting to construe what she read off people was overwhelming. Layers upon layers of unknown images and sounds bombarded her. Eventually Buffy could block the thoughts out better and sift through them with ease, should she dain to do so. Now Buffy almost always knew when someone was telling the truth.

"Aalllllrighty then," she tried to say confidently. Buffy's wide, green eyes flickered over to her parents. She wasn't sure how they were going to take this. She hoped her mom and dad would still love a geeky, magic-doing mutant of a witch like her.

When Buffy was leafing through Sabrina Simms' thoughts, she understood how unexpected the magnitude of her magic was. The older witch was incredulously amazed and partially frightened. So even for a witch, Buffy was aware that she was still unlike anyone else. That was freaking awesome. Not.

"So I'm like, magical or whatever. Do I get to enjoy the rest of my summer break? Or do I have to leave home and attend your magic school for witchy people?"

Professor Simms put down the cup of espresso she was nursing down onto the coffee table next to them. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to Buffy. At the end of the summer, if you choose to, you will have a place to learn how to use and control your magic."

Buffy's mouth was opening and closing like a gaping fish, unsure of what to say. This was certainly proving to be a day of firsts. Buffy was never at a loss for words, without a quippy remark up her sleeve.

Professor Simms' offer was actually, sort of cool. Buffy knew that she might be a little (or a lot) different from the majority of the Institute's students, but it would be pretty awesome to hang out with other kids like her.

Buffy could only imagine what her parents had to say about this. Did Professor Simms already discuss the matter with her parents before she came downstairs?

"This certainly clears up all the funny things that have happened over the years," joked Joyce.

"You and Dad don't think I'm a freak?" she asked softly. "You and Dad still love me?"

Joyce let out a sigh of affection but looked at her husband nervously. She knew the kind of views Hank had on normalcy and anything remotely close to the radar of the preposterously outlandish – he never let go of the resentment he felt toward Joyce for choosing to live in amongst the kooks, whackos and creative-types of Los Angeles. Mr Summers was still keeping to himself, not making a single noise.

Professor Simms shook her head cordially. She was uneasy about Buffy's almost disturbing display of powerful magic, but the concerns this young girl had were understandable. Joyce had explained earlier in the morning that Buffy was adopted and, in hushed tones, that Hank was hardly around anymore.

The child must have abandonment complexes, from being given away or unwillingly orphaned as a baby. Mr Summers' increasing absences and current reaction wasn't a help to Buffy's state of mind, either. Sabrina could tell that he was apprehensive during their talk. The facts of Buffy's adoption and the girl's fears cleared a lot of things up for the Professor.

Joyce reached out and hugged Buffy. "Of course we do honey. We don't care if you're a witch. You are still our daughter. We may have adopted you and you may be different, but your dad and I will always love you."

Joyce gave her husband an icy stare and nudged him. Hank was unresponsive.

Sabrina's eyebrows perked. "That reminds me of a few things Joyce. I will have to contact M.A.D.G.E. – Magic America's Department of Governmental Endeavours," Professor Simms added for the Summers' benefit. "Buffy may not be a Muggle-born, after all."

"Muggle?" Joyce questioned.

"Oh, sorry. Of course you wouldn't know what that word means. 'Muggle' is a term wizards use to call non-magical humans."

Joyce looked nervous. If Buffy's real parents were wizards and wanted their daughter back, there was nothing she would be able to do to stop them. Sabrina Simms gave an example of her magical abilities to prove to Hank and Joyce that she was speaking the truth before Buffy entered the room.

Mrs Summers forlornly gazed at a small sand pile of what used to be her favourite antique vase. What Buffy might have inherited from her birth-parents was incredible. Her daughter was only a child. She wondered whether or not Buffy's biological parents were still alive and what they would be capable of doing themselves.

Buffy was oblivious to her parents' discomfort and began playing with the tiny, golden key on a chain around her neck. She never took it off because it made a pretty pendant, with its shiny gold-ness, and was one of the few things she had of her pre-adoptive past – and might provide some vital clue-age if she ever decided to look into her birth origins. Buffy often fidgeted with the key out of habit.

Professor Simms eyed the small golden article in Buffy's hand, immediately recognising the type. "Buffy, may I have a look at that key?"

"Huh?" Buffy responded. She wasn't really paying attention anymore, lost in thought about the world of magic. "Sure, I guess." She unclasped the fine necklace housing the small key and handed it to Sabrina. "But be careful. It's one of the few things I have of my, uh," Buffy warily glanced at her mom and dad, "_Other_ parents."

Sabrina Simms carefully studied the tiny key. "I suspected as much. If I am not mistaken, this key belongs to a Gringotts vault."

"A Gringa-whatta?"

"Gringotts is a wizarding bank."

"With like, money and stuff?"

"Yes, Buffy."

Buffy's thoughts trailed off again. Her mind's fixation instantaneously shifted to gorgeous clothes, cute shoes and sparkly jewellery – even in her younger years of primary school, she found that it was very necessary to be a fashion savant. In Buffy's top tier clique at Hemery, it was essentially _the_ rules to always look perfect and never not be up-to-date in absolutely everything material, or perish into the social obscurity of loser-dom.

Mr and Mrs Summers were astounded, not that Hank gave any indication he actually heard anything. They weren't aware that Buffy's parents cared enough to leave their daughter any money. Hank and Joyce didn't hear anything of the sort from what they were told by the London orphanage where they adopted her.

According to the matron of the orphanage, Martha Stubbs, it was an exceptionally cold day in the middle of winter when they were given Buffy. A peculiarly dressed, rather harried woman named Anne Whiteley came in with a year old baby. The orphanage was given a mostly blank birth certificate, stating only the name of the mother and the child's date of birth, but she called this baby Elizabeth.

It was mentioned that Anne talked with Martha for less than a minute before rushing off, leaving behind a few trinkets and her child. She was never to be seen again.

"Summer break doesn't end for a month, but considering the circumstances, perhaps you would like for me to escort you all to Rowling Lane today to see if this is actually a Gringotts key? It would certainly help in funding your school supplies, should you decide to attend the Salem Institute?"

"What do you say, sweetie?" asked Joyce Summers.

"Sure, whatever," said Buffy. She locked eyes with her mother, who was still a bit worried. Mostly about Hank's reaction. "What do you have to say about going to Gringles, mother of mine? I wouldn't mind an uppage in my allowance, if this Gottagle vault-y business leads to more money."

Joyce sighed. "I suppose we should. Does this mean you want to attend, honey?"

"First the shoes– I mean money, then the deciding and decision making. Cool?"

"Of course, dear."

"Awesome."

"I guess it's settled then," said Professor Simms. She took out her wand and tapped an old newspaper on the coffee table with it. "Now before we leave, I'll have to explain to all of you what a Portkey is..."


	4. An American Brit

Joyce and Buffy Summers were splayed flat on the ground in an empty alley. Sabrina Simms was standing upright, a little windswept, but not part of the Summers family dog pile on the ground.

Back in the Summers' living-room, Professor Simms explained what she did to the newspaper with her wand when she tapped it. She transformed the old paper into an object that can transport people from one spot to another, large groups at a time if need be. Sabrina turned it into a Portkey.

After Professor Simms' instructions to place a hand on the Portkey and her countdown, it happened instantly. Buffy felt as though a hook just behind her navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forwards.

Hank Summers elected to stay behind in Los Angeles, mumbling something about having to rush off to the office. Before anyone could object, he had his briefcase in hand and was gone.

Hank's departure made Joyce mad, Buffy upset and Sabrina uncomfortable. It was unfortunate that differences like this came between people. Sabrina Simms had certainly seen similar behaviour in reverse. Old wizarding families were ashamed of and shunned squibs – non-magical people born from wizarding parentage.

Buffy's stylish yet comfortable shoe wearing feet left the ground and she could feel vibrating bodies on either side of her, their shoulders banging into hers. They all sped forwards into a howl of wind and swirling colour, Buffy's hand stuck to the two day-old newspaper as though it was pulling her magnetically onwards.

Sabrina was looking sympathetically at the Summers women. Joyce was straightening her clothes and Buffy was doing her best in trying to fix her hair without a mirror.

"Well that was a totally unfun experience."

The two Summers's disentangled themselves from each other and got to their feet. Buffy was glad the ground wasn't wet, otherwise her white, daisy tank top would've been ruined.

Professor Simms apologised for the state in which they arrived and led them to a diminutive, old cafe. A faded sign displayed the name the Brisky Brewery. If the Salem Witches' Institute teacher had not pointed it out, Buffy wouldn't have even noticed it was there.

The people on the street passing by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the unimpressive bookstore on the left to the vintage record shop on the right as if they couldn't see it at all. Buffy had a funny feeling they could not and only her Mom, Sabrina Simms and herself could.

The earthy, wood panelled cafe didn't look remarkable, nor did it have many customers. Buffy would not have believed this place was in any way special if it weren't for the cafe's oddly dressed patrons. They were, like Professor Simms, clad in long robes and sweeping cloaks too.

If Buffy didn't have their peculiar clothing to recognise specific individuals as magic users, she would have been able to distinguish them by their minds. Witches and wizards, it turned out, were slightly harder to get a read on. Buffy didn't mind that. It meant their thoughts would be easier to shut out.

Buffy and her mother were led to an ivy covered, walled in courtyard. The walls were made of rough, brown stones and there wasn't much around except for a few trash cans and some litter.

Sabrina Simms strode ahead of them and once again held out her wand. She was in front of the wall to the left of the door they exited the Brisky Brewery from. Sabrina tapped the wall a few times in the middle, causing the last stone she touched to quiver.

The wall wriggled until a hole appeared, growing wider until a second later, everyone was facing a magnificent archway onto a cobbled street. The street was seemingly endless, twisting and turning out of sight.

"This is Rowling Lane," said Professor Simms.

Sabrina grinned at the Summers' amazement. They stepped through the brown stone archway. Buffy quickly looked over her shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into a solid wall. She turned back in front of her and took out her cell phone to take a picture. She was put out when it wouldn't turn on.

"Mom, my phone is being all non-on-turny and busted."

"I'm sorry about that Buffy." Professor Simms looked at the Muggle gadget in Buffy's hand. "If that device relies on electrical power, it won't work here. In places with high magical energy such as this, things that depend on electricity can't function."

"Does that include the Salem Institute-y place?" asked Buffy, placing her bedazzled phone back in her pocket.

"I'm afraid so."

"Okalies, not so sure about the magic schoolage now."

Sabrina simply wore an entertained expression and continued in the direction of the Gringotts bank for Joyce and Buffy to follow. Retorts and complaints about the lack of electricity use in the wizarding world didn't make it out of Buffy carefully lip-glossed mouth whilst walking down Rowling Lane. She was far too taken with the wondrous sight before her.

Buffy wished she had a billion more eyes, creepish and ugly though the sight of it may have been. She turned her head in every direction as they walked up the busy street, trying to look at everything at once. It was bustling with dozens of robed people in every colour conceivable.

There were shops advertising fashionable wizard-wear, stores displaying telescopes, windows stacked with tottering piles of spell books and a cart selling animated corndogs that strongly resembled live Labradors. Buffy was mad to check out all of the shops but planned to steer clear of the corndog cart.

Planted in the middle of the first fork in Rowling Lane was a snowy-white building which towered over the other little establishments. Buffy started to experience a weird tingling sensation she had never felt before, causing the fair hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

The alerting sensation got more intense the closer they walked to the massive white structure. When they reached the building's front entrance, the reason for Buffy's senses going haywire was given a physical form. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was –

"Yes, that is a goblin," said Professor Simms quietly to the Summers family as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was nearly a head shorter than Buffy. He had a swarthy, clever face, a thin moustache and, Buffy noticed, very long hands and feet. He bowed as they walked inside.

Now facing a second, silver pair of doors, Joyce paused to read the engraving upon it. Buffy merely glanced at it before getting bored, memorising it in an instant. It was actions like that which made Hemery Primary and encouraged Mr and Mrs Summers to make her take those tests at the end of the school year.

The second doors' words were finely carved with a presentation of obvious and dire warnings to potential thieves. A person would have to be mad to rob a place like Gringotts, Buffy concluded. The creepy little goblin guys were enough to fend her off any future heists.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a huge marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter. Some were scribbling in ledgers, many weighing coins on brass scales, others examining precious stones through magically enhanced eyeglasses.

There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Sabrina, Buffy and Joyce made for the counter.

It took residing in this vast hall and remaining stationary for Buffy to notice just how much she and her mom stood out from everyone else in their expertly worn Muggle clothing. The few wizards around them attempting Muggle-wear, to blend into the street outside the Brisky Brewery after a day's shopping, were outfitted atrociously.

Buffy saw a woman wearing coattails several sizes too large, a middle-aged couple in beachwear and yellow floatation devices decorated with rubber ducks on their arms, and an elderly man sporting a denim miniskirt.

Possibly permanently scarred for life, Buffy wasn't sure if she would be able to wear a skirt again. Add to that, a very likely lasting aversion to denim.

"Greetings," Sabrina addressed the closest goblin, "We were wondering if Miss Buffy Summers' key belonged to a vault here."

Professor Simms nodded to Buffy, who took off her necklace and handed over the tiny, golden key for the second time that day. Joyce was intently paying attention to the goblin alongside Sabrina and, surprisingly, Buffy. The Gringotts goblin scrutinized it thoroughly though its own eyeglass.

Dissatisfied with what he was seeing, seconds later the goblin unearthed a different eyeglass from its pocket. This eyeglass faintly glowed with a green tinge, and comically enlarged the view on the other side.

Buffy stifled a laugh at the sight, knowing it to be inappropriate. She didn't want to offend the creepy goblin.

The goblin's beady eyes raked over the key's small form for several minutes. "This key does not belong to any vault here, but to one in our London branch in Diagon Alley," stated the goblin assuredly. He returned the key to Buffy and went straight back to weighing a pile of sapphires the size of baseballs.

"Joyce, I have to ask, was your daughter born in America?"

"Nope," replied Mrs Summers. "Buffy was born in the United Kingdom. In England."

"Oh yeah," Buffy said giggling. "The land of proper propriety. Where people drive on the wrong side of road, wear an abundance of tweed, drink super weak caffeinated beverages and have super dreamy, royal hunky hunks on their tabloid covers instead of former tween star train wrecks."

Buffy, back in possession of her gold key, was in the process of sliding it back on her necklace while Sabrina's face changed. It expressed inquisitiveness, concern and a lot of perplexment.

"Is there something wrong, Sabrina?"

"Nothing wrong to worry about for now, Joyce. I just have to owl an old friend, is all."

"Owl?"

"A method of communication we use," Professor Simms cleared up. "It is common practice for wizards to message each other by owl postage."

Buffy snickered. "So you guys seriously like, send actual owls to people?"

"Yes."

"Real live owls, with paper-like mail?"

"Of course."

"Owls; the teeny, nocturnal, cute critters with feathers?"

"Yes, Miss Summers. Those kinds of owls with actual letters we magical folk send to other witches and wizards conveying all manner of messages, written with a quill, ink and parchment," said Professor Simms patiently, though with an undetectable undertone of minor agitation. It appeared that an attribute contributing to Sabrina's role in meeting with prospective Muggle-raised students was her steadfast ability to deal with repetitive and redundant questions.

The teachers sent to those possible future students – who grew up in a purely non-magical, Muggle environment and unaware of the wizarding world – had to be very tolerant and understanding to any way in which a young witch or wizard, and their family, might act. Dedicated and considerate teachers like Sabrina Simms.

"Jeez, how does an entire subculture survive by sticking to the olden days before the invention of ball points? That would drive me all nutty and squirrelly! Like, totally bonkers! I don't know how you guys do it. Please tell me that you people at least know what a pencil is!"

This particular child was proving to be rather testing for the customarily even-tempered Professor. Sabrina Simms was blessedly thankful that Buffy Summers was one of a kind.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was reading an expansively wordy letter written to him by an old friend, Sabrina Simms. He had met her when she was a teenager and he, himself, was a younger but nevertheless old, older man. They initally crossed paths during one of Dumbledore's travels to the Americas. He was visiting the all-girl's magic school for youngsters, – as well as its partner school for boys, the Ipswich Wizards' Academy – the Salem Witches' Institute.

The lengthy letter was delivered to him by a ruffled barn owl. It was exhausted and had clearly travelled a long distance. A trip from Salem, Massachusetts in the United States to the Hogwarts castle in Scotland, across the Atlantic Ocean, to be precise.

Stroking his silvery beard, long enough to tuck into tuck into his belt, the highly respected wizard was considering the options of this unique case. A young girl named Elizabeth Summers was adopted by an American Muggle couple and living in the United States.

The adoption and being raised by Muggles wasn't an issue. The problem was that Miss Summers was evidently born in London and still British according to their laws. In the Muggle world, she was legally an American. In compliance with international wizarding decree, that was an entirely different matter.

Albus knew the British Ministry of Magic's rules and regulations backwards and forwards, without a doubt for error in his brilliant mind. He would have to contact someone in the Ministry first, an easy feat. Cornelius Fudge, the more recently appointed Minister for Magic, had been sending a great many owls to him lately, anyway.

Also, as a member of the International Confederation of Wizards, Dumbledore was doubly sure of what was going to happen in regards to Miss Elizabeth Summers. She wouldn't be eligible to lawfully change her nationality in the magical community until she came of age.

Dumbledore chuckled to himself, comfortably sitting behind the enormous claw-footed desk in his large, circular office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was halfway through Sabrina's letter. Apparently she had never been so close to losing her calm and patience until she met this particular eleven year-old – quite the achievement, for Sabrina had always been a very composed woman, even as a teenager. Miss Summers's outward disposition was said to be the reason why most female Americans were perceived as 'bubble-brained airheads'.

Professor Simms wrote that the girl's parents had informed her that their daughter was deceptively bright and had a tendency to get bored faster than a Snitch could disappear from sight – not in those exact words, precisely, for they were Muggles after all, and wouldn't have the foggiest idea about Quidditch. Sabrina's own discreet observations of the Californian child included, oh dear...

Surely Dumbledore was reading this letter wrong, interpreting the overused colloquialisms frequented in American slang incorrectly. Perhaps it was a momentary trick caused by his desk lamp's flickering flame, or maybe his wrinkled eyes were finally giving way to his immensely old age.

Albus Dumbledore decided to reread the whole of Sabrina Simms' letter. When he finished the very last extensively penned paragraph, he knew that he had to see to this extraordinary young girl personally.

* * *

It was Harry Potter's third night back with the Dursleys after his trip to Diagon Alley with Rubeus Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. He was alone and lying on his bed in the space that used to be his rotund bully of a cousin's second bedroom.

Gone was the voluminous overflow of worn-out belongings that would no longer fit into Dudley Dursley's first bedroom. Broken toys, old electronics and untouched books were replaced with Harry's things.

It wasn't a lot, but he could call them his – being raised by relatives who detested his sheer existence, any general accoutrements Harry was allowed to have, and nice ones at that, were rare and cherished commodities. A half-empty trunk was sitting in an otherwise (if the room was still Dudley's) mishandled junk laden corner, and a collection of brand new spell books were strewn over a dented old desk.

Harry was mostly left alone, by the only living family members he had left, since his return to Privet Drive. Thanks to his and his cousin's newly discovered knowledge of him being a wizard, Dudley was now so scared of Harry that he wouldn't stay in the same room with him. His long necked Aunt Petunia and thick moustached Uncle Vernon didn't shut him in the cupboard under the stairs anymore.

The Dursleys didn't force him to do anything or shout at him – in fact, they didn't speak to him at all. They were half-terrified, half-furious, acting as though any chair with Harry in it was empty. Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did become a bit depressing after a while.

Harry kept to his room, with his new snowy owl for company. He had decided to call her Hedwig, a name he found in _A History of Magic_. Harry used his time alone flipping through compelling texts on wizarding history, magical creatures, incantations and potion instructions. His school books were very interesting.

Harry's light was on. He moved on from Bathilda Bagshot's written works, and was reading _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander. Harry had just started a section describing the Australian-native Billywigs when he felt the very thin scar on his forehead prickle.

He dropped the book. His hands shot up to the lightning bolt shaped mark below his messy hairline. Harry was overcome with emotions he wasn't actually feeling and felt a great rush of energy – though he now knew it was most probably magical power – pulse through him. This was something he hadn't experienced in well over a year.

Harry didn't really understand why he would sometimes be taken over by feelings that weren't his. Hagrid told him that it was expected for young witches and wizards to accidentally make things happen when they were angry or scared. He remembered the Brazilian boa constrictor he unintentionally set on Dudley at the zoo a while back and grinned widely to himself.

Harry did not know the reason behind the occasional flares of unprovoked emotions he used to have quite often while growing up. They came to him randomly, usually at night or early in the morning. There were many a time that Harry abruptly awoke at ungodly hours due to those involuntary emotional eruptions.

Unbridled sensations of fear and anger spontaneously welled up inside of Harry – he felt like the source of what wasn't his was an overwhelmingly inundated dam, so beyond its absolute maximum capacity that everything couldn't help but begin to spill out; flooding, drowning and suffocating every part of his own being. It dominated Harry to such an extent that it actively made him want to do something conspicuously destructive, to take charge.

A bold determination flowed through him. For a short moment, Harry could've sworn the rickety, cracked armoire that the Dursleys provided for him, to store his ragged, oversized clothes in, trembled.

The poignant frustration and worry, feelings Harry knew weren't his at that time, built up to the point that the wooden armoire crumbled and disintegrated into powdery debris in front of his startled green eyes. That was new. The impromptu emotional surges had never caused Harry to make magic happen, until then.

Before Harry had time to react to the dusty pile that used to be battered wood and Dudley's hand-me-downs, the uncalled-for emotions vanished. He was relieved.

Harry hadn't dealt with the sporadic surges in ages and forgot how they always passed as quickly as they came. However, that was not the case this time. This time was different. It lasted much longer and took him over in a way that they never had before. The haphazard feelings felt stronger and frightened him a little. Harry desperately wished that he knew why it was happening again.


	5. The Headmaster of Hogwarts

Night had fallen and the street outside the Summers household was dark when a tall, eccentrically dressed man appeared out of nowhere. Lucky for him, this man had just Apparated to Los Angeles. A place where wacky looking people were normal, flocking to California in hordes, seeking fame and fortune.

Close to his destination, the tall man strode off along the pavement, taking his usual large strides to where he was expected. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

It had been quite some time since Dumbledore met with a prospective Hogwarts student at their home. After becoming headmaster, he hadn't found the time or been in a circumstance where his attendance was required. Dumbledore even wound up delegating Harry Potter's house call to someone else.

Dumbledore's presence wasn't mandatory, but he did believe that this was a task he should undertake. Not just because of the numerous legal issues surrounding the poor girl. This particular eleven year old was reported to have powers that were well-developed to an unheard of extent for a witch her age.

Sabrina Simms wrote him a detailed letter explaining Miss Summers' actions during her visit from Salem. She mentioned controlled levitation, some form of molecular combustion and impressive Legilimency skills. Underage magic potent enough to be classified on its very own, new level.

Dumbledore was determined to guide this girl onto the right path. The last time he encountered a child with magic even a sliver of a fraction as great as Elizabeth Summers', he failed. That was around fifty years ago, when he taught a young man who grew up to be the Darkest wizard to walk the face of the earth in centuries.

Albus Dumbledore didn't take long to reach the Summers' modernised whitewashed home. He knocked on the house's eggshell painted door and quietly waited. Dumbledore wondered what this Elizabeth would be like in person.

* * *

Joyce Summers was pacing in the living-room. Her daughter Buffy was ringing her hands and looking at the clock every few seconds. Everyone had been on edge since learning about the wizarding world's legal issues surrounding Buffy's country of origin from Sabrina Simms.

The Salem Witches' Institute's liaison informed them of the likelihood that Buffy would be allowed stay in the United States of America on a permanent basis. The chances didn't look good.

Buffy was very worried. She didn't want to be taken away from her home and the people who loved her unconditionally – her mother Joyce, at least. Buffy almost wished that Professor Simms had never come to their house two weeks ago.

If Sabrina Simms had never introduced her to the world of magic, then Buffy wouldn't know anything about witches and wizards or their stupid laws. She wouldn't be in this mess and her parents wouldn't be so freaked.

Hank Summers had hardly been home in a while. He had been rather vacant beforehand, but this time it was much worse. The first week after Professor Simms' visit, Buffy's dad was like a ghost around the house. He barely said two words to either his wife or daughter. Hank then began to stay later at the office, avoiding his family at all costs.

An unspokenly agreed to silence and avoidance continued until both of Buffy's parents' emotions ran so high, verbal sparring matches became a regular routine ritual. That had been life in the Summers household for the past week. Hank hadn't come home yet. He was most likely going to sleep on the leather sofa in his office again.

All of this had to be her fault, Buffy fretted. The Salem Witches' Institute probably only found her because of her liberal use of magic. Buffy was raised by Muggles, as _they_ called normal people. A person she wasn't.

As a girl raised in a non-magical environment, Buffy should've been leading an average, apple pie life with her mommy and daddy. If she hadn't been found, her parents wouldn't be fighting and life would've stayed the same. None of the yelling and avoiding and distancing would be happening.

Buffy saw the uncomfortable flicker in her father's eye every time something strange happened around her. She couldn't help the odd occurrences earlier in her youth but was determined to prevent, or at the very least control, them. Buffy didn't want her dad to stop loving her and get rid of her.

Buffy managed to temper any uncontrolled outbursts of magic for the past fortnight. Now that her parents knew the truth she didn't have to hide it anymore, but she didn't want to add to their stress and bickering.

The worst thing that had happened since Professor Simms' visit was Buffy accidentally setting the neighbour's tallest palm tree on fire. Buffy wasn't all that upset about the incident, unintentional or not. That tree annoyingly blocked out the warm sunbeams that used to stream into her bedroom every morning.

A loud knock was heard from the front door. The visitor was expected. Professor Simms mailed the Summers family (the Muggle way, via the postal system) about her contacting a wizard from the UK a few days after their trip to Rowling Lane in Massachusetts. He was supposed to be able to help them sort everything out.

Joyce speeded to the door to let the wizened man in. He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak and high-heeled, buckled boots. His nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice.

Dumbledore peered down at the mousy blonde-haired woman who answered the door. She quickly invited him in. Before entering, Dumbledore emptied his mind, clearing all emotion. She may be a child, but he wasn't going to chance Miss Summers invading his thoughts. Dumbledore had a lot of confidences to keep and many secrets that would be best not shared.

A stressed Mrs Summers led Dumbledore through the spacious, typical LA house. Its walls had a few cracks and were rather barren. Joyce hadn't gotten around to fixing everything Buffy had damaged during Sabrina Simms' visit. They kept walking until they entered the brightly lit living-room where her daughter was anxiously waiting.

Dumbledore sensed a strange aura when he first landed in the Summers' street by Apparating. He magically disappeared on the spot in a secluded space in London and materialised out of thin air a moment later in LA.

The aura was stronger now that he was standing in front of Miss Summers. However, Dumbledore was sure that not all of the mysterious, mystical energy he felt emanated from her. There were two distinct, similar and uncannily familiar magical impressions he could make out.

The wizard's eyes, heavily lined by age, were light and framed behind half-moon spectacles. His blue eyes were nearly as bright and sparkling as Elizabeth Summers' enchanting green ones. They swept the room curiously until they landed upon the small, blonde girl he was there to meet.

The two energies that flowed through the house were engulfed in Dark magic, something he hadn't come across in ten years. Not since the day people were meeting in secret all over England, holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter – the Boy Who Lived!"

* * *

It had been ten years since the night Dumbledore left a baby with a lightning bolt shaped scar on the doorstep of a well kempt, suburban home in Surrey. That was the only other time he had felt such magic.

Dumbledore wasn't wholly certain about his assumptions, for he had formulated many guesses over the past decade. Nonetheless, he knew that he'd miraculously stumbled across a clue relevant to a certain Dark wizard – who Dumbledore had first met when that wizard was a young boy living in a grim, grey Muggle orphanage fifty years ago. He now had another piece to solve the puzzle of Lord Voldemort.

For the time being, Dumbledore chose to focus on the task at hand. The citizenship issues and legal dealings of one Miss Elizabeth Anne Summers. When he did, Dumbledore was surprised to notice an Appearance-Alteration Charm placed on the eleven year old.

It almost went by undetected because Dumbledore was so fixated on those two mystifying auras. The spell's caster was neither Miss Summers, nor the person behind the Dark magic he sensed while still out on the street. Dumbledore straightforwardly deduced that much. This magic, created by a wand, had a different style.

Dumbledore decided to keep his knowledge of the outer appearance changing charm to himself for the moment. There were more important matters to discuss in regard to Miss Summers' future.

Elizabeth Summers's small hands were fidgeting in her lap. Her luminous, grassy-coloured eyes rapidly darted around the room until they found him. She then, quick as her eyes were moving before, looked away.

Dumbledore smiled at the young girl when she avoided his gaze, her bright orbs of emerald determinedly staring down at the carpet. Miss Summers clearly didn't use her natural Legilimency abilities if she could help it.

Albus Dumbledore greeted Joyce and Elizabeth Summers with an energetic vigour unusual for a man of his age. "Mrs Summers, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said, shaking Joyce's hand.

"Please, it's Joyce."

Dumbledore then motioned to shake the tiny hand of Elizabeth. "Ah, Miss Elizabeth Summers, it is a pleasure meeting you too. I am terribly sorry for the unfortunate situation that has arisen."

"Buffy."

"Pardon me? I'm afraid that I am not common with that terminology, Miss Summers."

"My name's Buffy. Elizabeth sounds all boring, old and Engli- never mind." Buffy halted before she finished her sentence. It probably wasn't a way with the good to use the worlds boring, old and English in the same sentence in front of this man. Despite this Bumbly-dumbly dude himself, being old and English. The jury was still out on the 'boring' adjective she slipped out. Like all the other wizards she'd seen, he dressed funny.

"I go by Buffy."

"Of course, forgive me _Buffy_," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling. "My name is Albus Dumbledore and I am the headmaster of a school much like the Salem Witches' Institute. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As to why I'm here tonight, I am sure the lovely Professor Simms has already explained that to you."

Joyce was the first to respond. "Mr Dumbledore, I was wondering about the circumstances surrounding my daughter. Is it true she won't be able to stay here, in America?"

"Please, call me Albus. And to answer your question Joyce, due to the combination of Buffy's age, nationality and lack of magical guardianship in the wizarding world, I'm sorry to inform you that she legally isn't allowed to remain abroad for longer than two months at a time."

"Would it be possible to change that?"

"I'm afraid not. I have contacted my own country's M.A.D.G.E. counterpart in London, the Ministry of Magic, and Buffy will be unable to change the status of her citizenship until she is of age. She won't be able to do that until she is seventeen."

Joyce was geared up into full mom mode. "How about her education? Will she be attending school in the UK? Does Buffy have to learn magic? Will she have to attend Hogwarts?"

"I would advise that Buffy attend a school to hone her magical abilities. Untrained witches and wizards do tend to end up causing havoc and risk exposure of the magical community. Unadvisable, as that would lead to repeatedly breaking a number of our laws and dealing with the Ministry of Magic."

Buffy was about to interrupt her mother, but Joyce continued without losing steam. "Right. And what about Hogwarts? Will Buffy have to go there, specifically?"

Dumbledore was heartily amused. Joyce Summers was surely where Buffy got the spitfire attitude Sabrina told him about. "I double checked the legalities and talked to some of my Ministry contacts in London before I left. Although Buffy has to stay in the United Kingdom for most of the year, allowances could possibly be made, should she choose to attend another magical school in Europe."

"Are there many schools that teach magic in Europe?"

"A few. The most reputable of those schools would be Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute. However, as they teach students in their native tongues at the other schools, I would recommend that your daughter start at Hogwarts come the first of September."

"Thank you for answering all of my overprotective, mom questions."

"It's quite alright, Joyce. I'm glad I was able to provide you answers."

Joyce was wondering what Buffy's thoughts on this were. "What do you think, honey? About learning magic and attending Hogwarts?"

Throughout her mother and Dumbledore's exchange, Buffy was mostly listening, but also partly withdrawn into her own mind. She had ascertained that Albus Dumbledore was different from other wizards. His mind, not dissimilar to white noise and negative space, was perfectly blank and totally unreadable – it was like he wasn't even trying to hide that he was masking his thoughts from her.

Buffy would've been happy to enjoy the blissful peace that Dumbledore's outwardly blank brain offered any other time. Just not that night. Too many trails of thought to follow exploded inside Buffy's mind like fireworks. It was miraculous that she could somewhat concentrate on their dialogue at all.

"I'm cool with it. I guess I'm going to Hogwarts?"

* * *

Their conversation about Buffy's future and schooling had come to an end and reached the point where one could change subjects. Now that Joyce and Buffy were done, Dumbledore had some questions of his own to ask. He was finally in a position to find out where the Dark magic he sensed earlier came from.

"Buffy, may I ask if you have anything that might've belonged to your birth parents?"

"Yeah, I've got a few thingimijiggies. They're in my bedroom."

"Would I be able to see them? I know this might be too personal of a request, but I sensed an unusual energy when I first entered your street," Dumbledore said, the image of calm. "It became stronger as I moved closer to your home and I suspect that you have a possibly harmful, cursed object in your house."

Joyce was vexed, refusing to believe that she let her daughter keep something that might've been dangerous all those years. Buffy was sceptical. She was listening to what Professor Simms said about Dumbledore being a great wizard and everything, but could he really sense cursed objects from all the way out in the street?

Buffy telekinetically summoned a small, rose pink box from her bedroom while she made direct eye contact with Dumbledore for the first time that evening. Like she had with Sabrina Simms a fortnight ago, Buffy looked deeply into the aged wizard's eyes. In return, Dumbledore's gaze calmly challenged hers.

Albus Dumbledore's clear blue eyes looked into her big, forest greens. Buffy couldn't read anything off the guy. However, she distinctly felt as if she were being x-rayed and her thoughts subtly rifled through.

Buffy was annoyed and determined to crack him. She had to know if this old man was for real because she didn't want to encounter any more nasty surprises. Buffy had already caused enough strife in her family.

Dumbledore's mind was no longer blank. Instead it was imperviously barricading itself with dense mental blocks consisting of random moods and memories, built up into a towering wall. She focused her concentration, but was unable to slip through the psychic barriers of mundane trivialities that Dumbledore had set up.

This was getting real boring real fast. Buffy decided on a last attempt to penetrate the wizard's thoughts before calling it a night. Still nothing. This wizard dude was the Fort Knox of mind blockage. Professor Simms wasn't exaggerating about Dumbledore. Buffy chose to trust him for the meantime. He did exude a warm air of comfort and trustworthiness, like a favourite grandparent, anyway.

"Okay Dumble-man, I am totally impressed with your mind skill-age and like, fully understand what the hype is about. I'm in your corner and stuff," said Buffy just as the pink box containing her oldest possessions halted in the air, hovering next to her.

During their mental mind battle, Dumbledore's concerns of Buffy ending up a budding Voldemort were dispelled. While he was quite sure that she didn't manage to unearth anything from his own brain, Dumbledore had felt his way through enough of Miss Summers' psyche to understand there was little too worry about.

Yes, Buffy Summers' powers were surprisingly well-developed for such a young witch and – similar to the young Voldemort raised in a Muggle orphanage – she already discovered that she had a measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously. However, unlike the burgeoning Dark wizard, she was like any other child coming into their magical abilities.

Buffy may have had extraordinary amounts of power, but she didn't seek to harm others or use them for personal gain. In fact, oddly enough, this girl was unsure of what she was in possession of and would've preferred to live a simple, Muggle life with her adoptive family.

"Thank you for the, uniquely put, vote of confidence Buffy," said Dumbledore, his laughing eyes twinkling.

"Sure!" Buffy said sprightly. "I'm all for the confidence-ing."

Buffy reached out for the floating box. She took it, opened it and held it in front of Dumbledore. He examined the small box's contents, intrigued and astonished. One of the items looked vaguely familiar. Dumbledore couldn't quite place exactly where or when he had seen it before, but was certain that he may have. Perhaps in a historical tome somewhere, long ago. Goodness, he was getting on in years, wasn't he?

The item Dumbledore recognised was the one from which the Dark magic in the Summers house originated. It was a heavy gold locket adorned with a serpentine 'S'.

The piece shrouded with Dark energy had to be over a thousand years old, but the curse laid upon it was definitely cast within the last half century. A single name came to Dumbledore's mind. Voldemort.

There were a couple other items in the box. One of them was a plain birth certificate issued by a Muggle hospital in London. The names of the father and child given birth to were blank. The date read the 20th of January and year of birth. The name of the mother printed was Anne Whiteley. Likely an alias and, therefore, duly unhelpful.

The last object contained by the pink box was a slightly blurry, Muggle Polaroid picture. It was bent and faded, and was visibly taken in the spur of the moment. The old photograph captured the image of a woman wearing a drab hospital gown, holding a sleeping baby.

The woman in the picture had to be barely twenty. She was very good-looking, with a small, quirky nose and full lips. Her dark hair gracefully fanned around her petite frame and fell into her blue-grey eyes with a casual elegance. She hardly looked like a woman who had just given birth.

She disappeared nearly two years before Voldemort's downfall, from what Dumbledore could recall. She then turned up out of nowhere, not much time later, around the same time the Potters had gone into hiding.

The beautiful woman died soon after rejoining the wizarding world, not long after Voldemort had vanished and his followers were being rounded up by the Ministry of Magic's Dark wizard catchers. She had interrupted a few of the last standing Death Eater loyalists torturing a couple of Aurors and she, herself, was killed.

Dumbledore knew who this woman was. Her name was Regina Annabelle Black.

Dumbledore faintly smiled at the ingenuity of the late Black heiress. Regina Black always was sharp as a whip, receiving twelve Outstanding N.E.W.T. (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests) grades after graduating from Hogwarts. She could smoothly charm her way out of any delicate situation and just as easily convince anyone to do whatever she wanted, no matter the ridiculousness of the request.

Regina Black was the middle child of a very old, noble wizarding family. She grew up with two brothers. Sirius was a year older, infinitely more rebellious, equally physically striking and nearly as smart as her. The youngest was Regulus and not quite as bright or beloved as the eldest siblings.

Regulus Black however, was the favourite because of his blind obedience toward their parents and their ideals. Mr and Mrs Black were pure-blood fanatics, like their ancestors before them, believing that magic should only be used by and could only be trusted within all-magic families.

Regina's older brother detested the Black family morals and her younger wholeheartedly concurred with them. She, herself, leaned swaying to the side of her parents, but was more or less indifferent. Regina agreed with keeping the pure-bloodlines pure for tradition's sake, but didn't actually hate or mistrust Muggles.

Regina was very well liked by everyone during her days at Hogwarts. Even by students in other houses, despite her Slytherin sorting. Slytherins and the rest of the Hogwarts houses always shared an animosity. Regina didn't care for the prejudiced divide between Slytherin house and the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

She blatantly ignored custom convention and unwritten student codes of conduct at Hogwarts, and got away with it. Nobody knew exactly how, – many others tried and failed to follow her lead; none of them as intelligent or cunning or amiable enough to do the same – but she did. Regina socialised with whomever she wanted, pure-bloods, half-bloods, Muggle-borns. She was a truly original individual. Smart, pretty and popular with a bright future ahead of her. So why did Regina to go into hiding all those years ago?

The reason must have been the little girl sitting before Dumbledore. According to the date of Buffy's birth, Regina was absent from the wizarding world throughout her entire pregnancy and approximately a year after.

The child of Regina Black would be undoubtedly recognisable. So witty it was for her to cast a spell on her daughter to alter her appearance. And how crafty Regina was, living under the guise of another name, a common, easily forgettable Muggle name – that for some strange reason, the surname of sounded a little familiar to him, like it came from an important but muddled and fuzzy, long ago diminished dream. Very unbecoming for the Noble House of Black.

Dumbledore's praises for cunning that certainly lived up to Regina Black's sorting into Slytherin during her time at school led to one disconcerting query in particular. What was so terrible that a witch great as Regina fled the wizarding world and hid her child? Why did she go so far as to cast a spell, so powerful it was still active long after she died, on her child to alter her appearance?

It was times like this that Buffy was glad to have her freakish mind read-y ability. Dumbledore was looking intently at the photograph of the woman who gave birth to her and Buffy wanted to know what he was thinking. Unfortunately his face was utterly unreadable and his mind impenetrable.

Coming out of his reverie and focusing back on the gold locket, Dumbledore informed Joyce and Buffy about his findings. He didn't think it would bode well for Buffy to find out the identity of her birth mother while she was still so young. Dumbledore believed it best to protect Buffy from the truth for now. There were many sad and disturbing things that this innocent child didn't need to know about Regina Black's family and their... colourful (more accurately, discoloured and obtrusively darkly shadowed) ancestral history.

"It appears the cursed object of which I suspected is in fact your locket, Buffy."

Buffy gave into temptation, letting out a loud giggle. "Of course that thing is cursed!" She turned to her mother. "Why do you think I never wear it, Mom? I told you that locket gave me the wiggins."

Joyce raised her eyebrows at her daughter.

"I assume 'wiggins' is referring to a bad vibe they radiate?" Dumbledore asked, trying his best to understand and relate to the tiny blonde California native.

Sabrina Simms was correct about Miss Summers. The letter written to him, filled with a lot of not-so-subtle exasperations about the girl, was right. About the remarkable powers, but also her big heart and unique and brazen humour.

Dumbledore found Buffy's personal brand of zest delightfully endearing. It seemed that this fast approaching school year at Hogwarts was going to prove being particularly interesting.


	6. Gringotts

A day later, after a lot of discussion and packing, Joyce and Buffy Summers were in London. Joyce had elected to take some time off work to accompany her daughter to the Mother Country. Hank was still evading his family and remained in America. He hadn't even come home that night or the morning after.

Things looked bad for the solidity of the Summers family. Buffy was dolefully wracked with guilt because she believed everything to be her fault ever since Sabrina Simms' visit. Joyce knew that simply wasn't true and set her daughter, and all of her absurd and blameless anguish, straight.

Joyce and Hank Summers were no longer the happy couple they used to be, and they had known it for quite some time. They had been having petty arguments for over three years. It just so happened to be the enlightenment regarding Buffy's past that was the cherry on top of their marriage failure sundae.

Hank Summers was never one to like anything out of the ordinary. That was why, when strange things started happening around their daughter, fighting ensued. Mr Summers cared for his daughter but not enough to keep her around. Mrs Summers was furious at his admission.

Joyce didn't get into the harsh details that were the cause of her husband's unfair behaviour, but made sure Buffy knew that their family's troublesome issues were not her fault. The couple had an alarmingly high multitude of disquieting marital issues, many of them not even involving her. Hank wasn't the great man she thought she loved and was no longer a person that she wanted in her life or around her precious child.

Joyce and Buffy would be staying in a peculiar holding much like the Brisky Brewery in Massachusetts. It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub called the Leaky Cauldron. According to Dumbledore, the place was supposedly famous. Surprisingly, the pub turned out to be just that and was busy with its conventionally robed and cloaked, wizarding clientèle.

Same as the diminutive cafe in Salem, the Muggle people hurrying by couldn't catch a glimpse of it, their eyes skipping from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other. It ended up to be two for two, situated in between a book store and some kind of music shop on either side, – back over in the States, and now here in England – Buffy mused silently to herself.

When they first entered the dark and shabby pub, the low buzz of chatter customary to the Leaky Cauldron ceased. Joyce and Buffy felt a little disconcerted at the attention but Albus Dumbledore took it in stride. The witches and wizards eyed their dress and luggage with confusion, a few with contempt.

They weren't exactly sure how to treat the newcomers, but everyone seemed to know Dumbledore; they waved and smiled at him while showing a great amount respect.

The old barman, stooping and toothless, reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Albus?"

"Not today, I'm afraid. I'm here on Hogwarts business. If you could be so kind to ready a room for Mrs Summers and her daughter, Tom," Dumbledore requested with his never wavering serene manner.

The barman smiled. It had been a long time since Albus had taken the time to take a first year Hogwarts student to Diagon Alley. He hadn't done so since becoming headmaster. Another surprise for the new school year, first with Harry Potter's arrival a fortnight ago and now this young blonde girl.

"Room nine's free. I think you'll find it comfortable."

Tom went back to wiping glasses behind the bar and the Leaky Cauldron's patrons went back to their conversations when they left. Dumbledore led Buffy and Joyce to their room, where they put away their bags and suitcases. They were then led back to the pub and out into a small, walled courtyard.

There was nothing there but a dustbin and a few weeds. It distinctively reminded Buffy of the brown stoned, ivy covered courtyard behind the Brisky Brewery.

"I'm guessing we get to skip clicking our ruby red heels and get to Oz through one of the walls here?"

Dumbledore chuckled. He understood Buffy's reference to the Wizard of Oz musical. He rather enjoyed it. "Quite right Buffy. I was told by Sabrina Simms that you and Joyce have been to Rowling Lane. Am I correct?"

"Yes Albus," said Joyce. "The place was remarkable."

"Totally! Aside from the no electricity thing, it rocked!"

Albus' eyes twinkled at the two women and he took out his wand. Like Sabrina did before in the Brisky Brewery courtyard, he tapped a few bricks on one of the walls and the anticipated quivering began. An archway appeared onto a winding street. An older but more enchanting and fascinating a place than Rowling Lane.

"Welcome," said Dumbledore, "To Diagon Alley."

Diagon Alley too, was a cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight. The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. _Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver – Self-Stirring – Collapsible_ said a sign hanging over them.

"Yes Buffy, you'll be needing one of those," said Dumbledore, "But we should visit Gringotts first."

"Alrighty."

Buffy decided that she liked the feel of Diagon Alley better than Rowling Lane. It felt olden, warmer and homier, like it was a place where she belonged.

She was less avid in her observations of the magic stores and vendors whilst walking through Diagon Alley but again wished that she could see everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside the apothecary's shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad ..."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying _Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown and Snowy_. Buffy was glad to see no carts selling live-looking corndogs in the shape of adorable canines.

"I believe we are here Joyce, Buffy," said Dumbledore.

They had reached a snowy-white building, similar to, however, larger and grander than the one in Rowling Lane. Buffy experienced the same tingling she felt in Salem when approaching the bank's goblins. This time she ignored it.

The goblins in their scarlet and gold uniforms bowed them through the sets of doors that led to the vast, white marble hall inside. The London's Gringotts branch was an exact replica of the one in Salem, only bigger, older and much busier. This time there were no wizards haphazardly experimenting with Muggle clothing.

Joyce and Buffy followed Dumbledore to the counter for an available goblin.

"Good afternoon," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "We are here to take some money out of Miss Summers' safe."

"You have her key, sir?"

"Why yes." Dumbledore turned to Buffy. She had already taken the tiny golden key off her necklace and handed it to the goblin.

"Ahh," the goblin exclaimed after a lot of scrutiny. He squinted at the key, then down at the small slip of a girl in front of him. "The Black vault. That hasn't been opened in quite some time. Interesting sir, all these unusual things happening all at once."

Dumbledore suspiciously coughed after the desk goblin said the word Black. Joyce and Buffy peered warily at the Hogwarts headmaster. Clearly he was hoping for the Summers' to remain unaware of this information, and it was true. Dumbledore didn't want them to know about the Blacks.

* * *

There was a lot of silence after the Gringotts goblin's proclamation. Dumbledore's wrinkled eyes took on a state of resign. Joyce wanted to know what was going on and looked serious. Buffy was attentively staring between the goblin, Dumbledore and her mother.

Joyce could tell Dumbledore wasn't keen on either her or her daughter hearing what the goblin just said. She found herself liking the old wizard in the short amount of time she had known him, but Joyce needed to know what it was that Dumbledore was keeping secret.

"Please Albus, I have to know, what did the goblin mean by the 'Black' vault?"

Dumbledore's famously composed face frowned. "I suppose there is a lot I should tell you before we go down to the vaults." He looked to the goblin that was serving them. "Would you please notify your security that when we pass the Thief's Downfall, there may be an alert? If I am not mistaken, I believe that Miss Summers' safe is far down enough so that we will be going through it."

The goblin nodded and left the three of them. Dumbledore sighed and started his explanation. "I apologise for not telling you sooner, but I assure you Joyce, Buffy... I had good reason to do so."

Joyce's face expressed anxiety. Buffy couldn't help feeling excited. Whatever Dumbledore was about to tell them was more than likely not going to be good news. However, it could possibly be something about her birth parents. Ever since her dad's increased ignorance and the discovery of her magical heritage, Buffy wanted to know more.

"I believe your birth mother was Regina Black."

"Was?" Joyce and Buffy said at the same time.

"Yes, I am sorry to tell you both that the woman in the picture you showed to me at your house was a student of mine over ten years ago. Her name was Regina. She was a very talented girl, one of the smartest I ever had the pleasure to have at Hogwarts."

"There is totally going to be a 'but' in there somewhere, isn't there?"

Dumbledore sighed sadly. "There was a time, before you were born, that Great Britain's wizarding world was in chaos. A Dark wizard was taking over, and it was during that time Miss Summers, that Regina Black went missing for a few years, then came back. The years leading up to and then after you were born, Buffy."

"Uh huh..."

"I have to regretfully say that it was only a few months after Regina returned to the magical community that she was killed. The Dark wizard that was terrorising Britain had disappeared, but he still had numerous supporters up and down the country. It was a fight with a group of them that led to her death."

"What about Buffy?" asked a horrified Joyce Summers.

"Up until meeting you and Buffy yesterday, I didn't know that Regina had a child. I don't think anyone was even aware that there was another last heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

"Last, Albus? What do you mean by last?"

Dumbledore looked more sombre than ever. "I hate having to tell you this, but the last living direct family member Buffy has by blood, to my knowledge, is currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban Prison for some truly heinous crimes..."

* * *

Dumbledore didn't expand much on the morbid history of the Black family to Joyce and Buffy. They were told briefly about Sirius's incarceration and Regulus's death. They were also informed about some kind of charm that Regina had cast on Buffy as a baby to alter her appearance. Something Buffy wasn't very pleased about.

A goblin named Bogrod was given the task of showing Buffy, Joyce and Dumbledore to the Black bank vault. According to the desk goblin that was first serving them in the marble hall, the key Buffy had opened the safe that stored the majority of what remained of the Black family fortune. Mr and Mrs Black Senior had passed away some years after Regulus and Regina's passing, and Sirius's arrest. From then on, many of their assets were either held in conjunction with or moved into the one safe in Diagon Alley.

Dumbledore was explaining to Joyce the wizarding monetary system as they followed Bogrod the goblin to one of the doors leading off the hall. Buffy was ignoring everyone, too worried about what she was going to look like after passing through the magical waterfall that Dumbledore had told her about.

The Thief's Downfall, the thing Dumbledore mentioned to the desk goblin before he began telling them of the Blacks, was a safety precaution used to protect some of the older vaults deep within the bowels of Gringotts. It was a waterfall that washed away all enchantments and magical concealment.

Because Buffy had been told that her physical appearance was so, well... pretty due to a spell placed on her by Regina Black, she wasn't particularly keen on passing through the Thief's Downfall. It was bad enough that girls in general were self-conscious about their image. Herself included. Now Buffy had to believe that she didn't actually look the way she thought she did. Major psychological trauma and lifetime therapy, much?

Bogrod was holding a door open for Dumbledore, Joyce and Buffy. Buffy, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downwards and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Bogrod whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. They climbed in and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Buffy found herself memorising the direction of each turn, dip and dive without meaning to. Yet more useless information for her brain to automatically file away in storage. It was like her classes at Hemery all over again.

The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Bogrod wasn't steering. Buffy's green eyes – not for long, she thought unhappily – stung as the cold air rushed past them. It was painful but she kept them wide open. Once, she thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage. Buffy twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but was too late.

They plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites hung from the ceiling and stalagmites grew from the floor. The cart's breakneck speed didn't let up as it whipped around another sharp bend and Buffy saw a waterfall up ahead. It was the Thief's Downfall. The cause behind Buffy's growing scowl.

Buckets of cascading water were falling on the tracks. Passing through the heavy downpour, Buffy screwed up her face and was wearing it with an extreme amount of displeasure. Water was completely drenching her tiny form. Buffy could feel the spell had worked and refused to open her eyes.

She always was small for her age, but now she felt tiny. Buffy's clothes were a couple of sizes too big for her and sopping wet. The weight on the top of her head felt heavier, and not just because of the water they passed through. Her hair was the same length but thicker, she had more of it.

"Forget my hair being all Farah Fawcett-y and windswept after this. It's going to be all wet and icky!" Buffy complained in a high Valley Girl-esque whine. She was happy to hear that at least her voice hadn't changed.

Joyce had yet to notice her daughter's sudden physical change after coming into contact with the magical waterfall. She was too preoccupied with surviving the locomotive racing speed of the cart.

Buffy had momentarily forgotten about the Thief's Downfall and was no longer fretting about the state of her hair. She had moved on to shrieking about her shoes.

"Okay, I totally get needing to protect the money and whatever is in these vault-y thingies, but seriously? My shoes are getting all ruined and gross over this? Seriously?"

Dumbledore, who up until that point was merely curious as to what the young Miss Summers would look like without the charm that concealed her true appearance over the years, was speechless when he saw the after-effects of the enchanted waterfall. He wondered if she would look like the late Regina Black or give an inkling as to her biological father's identity.

When Dumbledore was given his answer, he had no words to say or thoughts in his mind to comprehend what he saw before his very eyes. He was thankful that Buffy was too distressed about her shoes to sense his immediate thoughts and feelings.

There was absolutely no mistaking the resemblance. The pale skin, dark hair and law defying looks all pointed toward one person. A tall, handsome young boy Albus Dumbledore met in a Muggle orphanage nearly fifty years ago. It was ironic, all of his initial speculations in relation to Miss Summers' potent magic and questionable character. Not to mention the orphanage. And a Muggle orphanage in London, no less.

Dumbledore fought to keep himself calm and expression impassive when the bank cart finally halted. He realised the usually rare occurrences of shock he experienced were fast becoming a constant when he was with Buffy Summers. Dumbledore found himself personally empathising with Sabrina Simms.

Their cart stopped in front of one of the oldest and most heavily guarded vaults in Gringotts. The Black family vault. Excitedly bouncing out of the cart, Buffy was met with her mother's staring.

"Why Buffy, Albus was right. The spell. You look different," stated Joyce.

Buffy cocked her head to the side. "What with the me with the why with the huh?" She was unpleasantly reminded about the Thief's Downfall and Regina's appearance alteration charm. "Right. Great."

Joyce looked up to Dumbledore's tall figure for his input. Dumbledore gave a small smile to them both. Buffy was analysing her smaller, thinner hands like a scientist would an undiscovered entity. All her numbed brain could think of at that point was, at least she wasn't fat.

Dumbledore took out his wand and cast an ornately framed hand-held mirror out of thin air. Joyce was still in a state of awe and Buffy was impatiently tapping her foot. Dumbledore gave the mirror to Buffy and she gasped.

"Okay this is so not cool! A whole summer tanning on the beach, wasted!" cried Buffy. She held the mirror closer to her face. "Well, at least I'm still pretty, a whole different other kind of pretty, but still pretty. And without the chipmunk cheeks!"

Buffy definitely no longer retained any of the little puppy fat she had before the cart passed through the waterfall. She always had been skinny and pretty, and she was correct in her assessment. Buffy now held a beauty different to how she looked before.

Instead of the honey tan she had year round due to living in California, Buffy was pale. Not the kind of pale that came from too much time spent in a dank, dark room with no windows. Buffy's skin made her look like a china doll, alabaster-type fair and unnaturally perfect.

In actual fact, all of Buffy's physical features had changed to the point where they could be described as preternatural perfection. One would have been convinced that she was an angel on earth, even thought her to be the goddess Aphrodite taken human form in a child. She had become the pure embodiment of ideal beauty.

Buffy's bone structure was defined and her cheeks were hollow to an unusual extent for a girl her age. If it weren't for her miniscule stature and air of innocence that came with being only eleven years old, she could have easily been mistaken for someone in their early teens.

Buffy's emerald eyes were gone. They were still large and doe-like, retaining their sparkle and boldness. Her eyes now held a different, rounder shape and were a mesmerising blue-grey that anyone would have difficultly not getting lost in. Buffy's lips had become fuller, more curved and cherubic.

The only physical change less perfect than what it was before was Buffy's nose. Once pointed and pixie-like, it had become small and quirky. It appeared to have been sculpted to such an extent that her new nose made it look like Buffy had undergone plastic surgery. Her Muggle friends at Hemery would probably believe that too, should she ever see them again – unlikely, there were too many unanswerable questions for Buffy to explain. Many girls tended to get nose-jobs when reaching teen-hood in Los Angeles anyway. Oh the joys of chasing physical perfection and cosmetic surgical advancement.

Buffy had ultimately decided that she liked the changes, except for the lack of tan. She didn't care for her ridiculously smooth complexion. Buffy was an LA girl at heart and didn't like being pale.

She noticed in the mirror Dumbledore provided for her that she didn't really look the woman in the Polaroid picture she kept all her life. There were a few distinct features Buffy had which made her sure without a doubt that Regina Black was her mother. However, overall Buffy didn't look like Regina at all. She came to the conclusion that she must have taken after her father, and a handsome man he must've been.

Buffy gave the ornately framed mirror back to Dumbledore, who waved his wand and made it disappear. She began twirling a shiny lock of her thicker, dark hair with her slender fingers. Joyce was taking in her daughter's changed appearance. Dumbledore was talking to Bogrod the goblin, in a funny language she had never heard before, as he unlocked Buffy's bank vault.

Similar to the narrow passageway they had entered from the marble hall miles above them, the chamber they were in was given visibility by flame lit torches. However, the holders of light down here were supported by aged black marble instead of the gritty stone in the passageway and around the more modern, higher vaults, or white marble they had previously encountered in the Gringotts hall higher up.

A lone door was surrounded by the polished, black marble of the massive cavern. The wooden door was imposing and guarded Buffy's inheritance. The goblin Bogrod walked up to the door and asked Buffy to place her small hand upon it. Apparently, as an added security precaution, only a person that had Black family blood coursing through their body could access the safe's contents. She complied to the goblin's instructions and the door melted away to reveal another blockade.

Reaching the second door, the three-foot creature asked for Buffy's key. She once again took it off her slim neck, this time chain and all, and handed the tiny, golden object to Bogrod. The gleaming, gold door displayed a line of seven locks that looked like they all would snugly fit the key. The goblin inserted the key a number of times in a specific sequence, and only in a select few of the second door's locks.

Like before, the second door magically dissipated to expose an additional barrier. What soon proved to be the final vault door disappeared with a single gentle stroke of one of the goblin's veiny, long fingers.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Bogrod the goblin.

"Like, how often do you guys check to see if anyone's inside?" asked Buffy.

Bogrod grinned nastily. "For vaults this far down? About once every half a century."

"Seriously? That is totally cruel and creepy! Wh -"

Buffy stopped talking when she saw the contents of her safe. The final door's dark, medieval metal unlocked and exposed a cave-like opening and a large, high-ceilinged chamber. Its walls were made of the same dark marble from outside the vault and was nothing like what she was expecting.

The vault resembled a disorganised, cluttered museum more than anything else. Joyce was gobsmacked and her mouth wide open. Buffy beamed at her mother's reaction. Mrs Summers owned an art gallery in LA and was no doubt head over heels for the sight before her.

Nearly the entire room was crammed floor to ceiling with rich tapestries, flashing jewelled flasks containing liquids of colours she had never before, an immeasurable amount of fat, gold coins and a number of other priceless heirlooms and trinkets that Buffy had a hard time discerning the names of.

"Whoa!"


	7. Diagon Alley

Buffy, Joyce and Dumbledore were exiting Gringotts, everyone rather ruffled and a little disorientated after the returning Gringotts cart ride. Joyce almost keeled over after getting out. She was clutching her stomach and feeling ill. Joyce didn't like the speed those carts travelled at and the sickening jerks and jolts they took.

Dumbledore was explaining wizarding currency again, this time to the younger Summers', as the three of them walked down a set of white stone steps and away from the bank. "The gold coins are called Galleons, Buffy. There are seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. Knuts are the small bronze ones."

"Wicked."

"Now Buffy, please don't go spending that all at once." Joyce gave a serious look to her daughter. "Remember, we need to buy your school things and I am not going to let you waste all of your inheritance in one go."

Buffy pursed her lips for a while but eventually nodded. She refused to say it out loud, however, she did agree. As much as Buffy would love to exchange every Galleon in her vault for Muggle currency and hit up designer boutiques, there was still so much she had to learn about the wizarding world and she had a whole lot of life ahead of her.

Dumbledore jumped on the spot and reached for a pocket inside his robes during Joyce's lecture. "Merlin's beard, how could I forget?" He took out a yellowish envelope addressed to Elizabeth Summers in emerald ink. Dumbledore handed it to Buffy and she pulled out the pieces of parchment inside. The first was a letter and she read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

_Dear Miss Summers,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Buffy giggled a little after reading the letter. She looked up at Dumbledore and into his twinkling blue eyes, not intending to scour his thoughts but to see his face. "It's sick and all to know how awesome of a wizard you are, but I'd tell your printer to minimise your list of achievements on the welcome wagon Dumbly-D. Makes you look a little in love with yourself."

Buffy's impish grin later turned sheepish. "But seriously, good job on the Claso-El-Primo and the Supreme Mug-lumping!"

Dumbledore merely smiled at this little girl's humour. Buffy Summers was definitely no Tom Riddle. For starters, she wasn't as antisocial an independent loner. Buffy was genuinely friendly, cared about others and had been happy for Dumbledore to accompany her to buy her school things for Hogwarts. Something which the eleven year old Tom wasn't and did not.

Buffy handed the first piece of parchment to her Mom for her to look over while she went on to peruse the other parchment:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

Uniform

_First-year students will require:_

_1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

_2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

_3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

_4. Once winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)_

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags_

Set Books

_All Students should have a copy of each of the following:_

- The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_ by Miranda Goshawk_

- A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot_

- Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling_

- A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch_

- One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore_

- Magical Drafts and Potions _by Arsenius Jigger_

- Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _by Newt Scamander_

- The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _by Quentin Trimble_

Other Equipment

- _1 wand_

- _1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

- _1 set glass or crystal phials_

- _1 telescope_

- _1 set brass scales_

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad_

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

"So..." Buffy tried to hide her growing grin under a demure facade of false calm. "Shopping anyone?"

* * *

Buffy dragged Joyce and Dumbledore to _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_ first. She wanted to go on a shopping spree after visiting Gringotts and it seemed like buying robes was as good as it was going to get.

Buffy was holding her mother's hand when she entered the robe shop. Her eyes bugged out when she saw what was inside. The clothes weren't anything like the stores in LA. They were different, a little odd for someone raised by Muggles, but some of them were stunning. Buffy was instantly drawn to the section displaying the girliest pieces when she walked in.

"Mom," Buffy said in her noticeable American accent, giddy with excitement. She was dragging Joyce across the store, "Come on. Look, see? Pretty!"

There were gorgeous, gown-like robes that looked as if they could be something a fairytale princess would wear. Some were labelled _Hex-Proof – Dirt Repellent – Wash-Free_. A few items advertised spells cast on them, indicating that they could magically change into an entirely different outfit at a moment's notice.

Buffy was pulling her Mom toward the section labelled _Dress Robes_ when a squat witch dressed completely in mauve walked up to them.

"You are an awfully tiny thing, aren't you? But you look about the right age. Here for Hogwarts robes, dear?"

"Huh?" Buffy replied. She was distracted by all of the pink silk. "Oh yeah, totally. Warty-hogs, that's me!"

Joyce bent down and said something in Buffy's ear before letting her go get fitted for her school robes. She asked her daughter to be quick because she still felt a little queasy from the cart ride and needed to get something to settle her upset tummy. Buffy nodded and then followed Madam Malkin to the back of the store. Joyce made her way over to Dumbledore, who was inspecting a stately set of pinstriped, midnight blue robes for himself.

In the back of the shop, a girl with lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up her long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Buffy on a stool next to her, slipped a long robe over her small head and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the girl, "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," said Buffy.

"My mother and father are somewhere around here, looking at the clothes witches and wizards wear. We all have found everything so far absolutely fascinating. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course. I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard – I've read some of my school books already. I bought them yesterday in that marvellous bookstore up the street, and I plan to learn them all off by heart before term starts, of course, I hope it will be enough – my name is Hermione Granger. You don't sound British, are you from America? You sound like you are from the United States, interesting, don't they have American schools to learn magic? What's your name? Who are you?"

She said all of this very fast.

Buffy laughed kindly at the bushy haired girl. This Hermione Granger was a bit on the dorky side and not a person she would have been caught dead with at Hemery, but new school, new rules, right? She was bound to be an outcast, not growing up around magic like the other kids most likely did, and wanted to make as many friends as she could. Buffy decided that she liked Hermione and wasn't going to be a slave to the status quo for much longer.

"Wow, slow down girly-friend. I think you talked my ear off somewhere back there!"

Hermione grinned, flustered. Buffy just giggled and shook her head good-naturedly.

"It's all good Herms, that was a joke," she said. Hermione looked relieved. Buffy realised that this girl mustn't be used to a lot of socialisation. There was nothing to pull a person out of their shell like learning they were a witch, and everything bubbling up inside must have busted out Hermione like a volcano.

"My name's Buffy Summers." She paused, and was pleased to hear that the bushy-haired girl didn't make any unkind comments about her name. Buffy liked it, but her nickname had gotten a fair amount of teasing in its time. She supposed that Hermione sounded a bit funny too. Guess people in glass houses really didn't throw stones.

Buffy continued. "My family isn't magic either."

"Really?"

"Well, sorta." She was wondering how to word this. Buffy didn't want to let her first potential friend in the wizarding world know that, biologically, she came from a mostly deceased family and who's only living blood relative was rotting in Azkaban Prison.

"I mean, I was adopted as a baby, which is why all the American-ness. One of my birth parents was a witch, I dunno about the other one though. I grew up all non-magicky with Muggles and stuff though."

"Goodness, that's interesting! I'd be finding out everything I could if I was in your position," said Hermione. "But you're American, how come you are going to school in another country?"

"I was born here, and because of a bunch of stupid laws, I'm not allowed to stay in the States for very long."

"That's unfortunate." Hermione paused, sensing a sore subject. She didn't wait long to end the silence between them and move onto a lighter topic. "Do you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad-"

"-And again with ear-talking-off!" laughed Buffy.

"Sorry."

"It's all good. It would be better if I could understand half of what just said to me, but it's all the same to me. You're cool, I'm cool, we're cool."

This time it was Hermione's turn to looked confused.

"So uh... Dumbles lived in a house with a door made out of Griffins?"

"No silly. Gryffindor. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has a house system, and the houses are groups in which the students are divided, and make up the basic core of people you live with and mostly interact with throughout the year. There are four houses called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin, each named after the school's founders; Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin."

"Okay... I can't believe I'm about to say this to _you_, but care to make with the splainy?"

"I don't think we use that word in England," said Hermione, puzzled yet again.

"Oh, right, you British people never have any idea what I'm talking about, do you? Actually, I think that's Brits as well as adults in general who don't have a clue what it is that I say. I don't get why you people don't update and modernise your speak. Stodgy and boring, much? Anyway, I'm pretty sure that I've gotten off track here. I meant, can you explain?"

Hermione's confuddled face was replaced with a look that made it appear as though she had just been awarded with a million dollars at the sheer thought of someone asking her to recite more of her knowledge. Or Pounds, or Galleons, as was the money Buffy had to get used to. Why oh why did she have to be born in a country with weird money, and belong to another entirely separate world that used metallic hubcaps as currency?

"Well Buffy, as the history goes..."

Buffy was mostly listening to Hermione's chatter about the Hogwarts houses while she was in contemplative thought. Quite a feat to achieve because Hermione Granger's mind was a tough one to keep out of. Her thoughts spewed things out a million miles a minute, and came and went so fast that they were almost gibberish.

"That's you done, my dear," Madam Malkin said as Hermione was finishing talking about everything she had ever heard and read about Helga Hufflepuff. Buffy was not sorry for an excuse to leave and hopped down from the footstool. She didn't mind Hermione but the girl was a lot to handle for any prolonged periods of time.

"It was good to meet you Buffy!" Hermione said, waving. "I'll see you at Hogwarts."

* * *

Two adults and a young witch were exiting Eeylops Owl Emporium and were on their way to their final stop for Buffy's school supplies. She had yet to procure a wand. Making good time, they had already gotten everything else on her school list. It was amazing that they had managed to buy everything in a single afternoon. Especially when Buffy spent a great chunk of time convincing her Mom to let her buy a pair of shocking pink dragon hide gloves.

Buffy's books were bought in a shop called Flourish and Blotts, where the shelves were stacked up and out of sight with books. They had books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all.

Buffy was particularly entranced by a section toward the back of the store. It was filled with less light and musty air, jam-packed with aged tomes about extinct and rare magical creatures and mythological beasts. Buffy had to be dragged away by her mother because they still had the rest of her school supplies left to buy.

The apothecary was fascinating but Buffy wasn't at all enthused by the store's horrible smell of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. That was where they spent the least amount of time. They were in, quickly rounded up what she needed for the school year, then rushed out.

Buffy's purchases ended up being a pewter cauldron (even though she really wanted to get rose gold one, embedded with sparkly jewels), some nice brass scales for weighing potion ingredients, a set of crystal phials that reflected colours of the rainbow when hit with the light and a collapsible brass telescope.

Joyce, Buffy and Dumbledore were laden with bags and wrapped packages of Hogwarts school essentials. Buffy now carried a large cage which held a gorgeous midnight-black feathered owl, fast asleep with his head under his wing. She chose to call him Mr. Gordo because he was substantially larger than all of the other owls in the Emporium. Buffy remembered from Spanish class at Hemery Primary that the word 'gordo' translated to fat.

The three of them were walking in the direction of the best wand shop in all of England. A magic wand ... this was what Buffy had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair which Dumbledore, in a gentlemanly fashion, insisted Joyce take.

Buffy felt as though she had entered a very strict library. She swallowed a lot of new questions which had occurred to her and looked at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. There was silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

Dumbledore asked for Joyce and Buffy to wait in the front of the store while he visited the owner behind the counter. Buffy had a feeling that he was trying to hide something again, but since learning the truth about Regina Black and her family, she was inclined to believe that Dumbledore must have had good reason to do so.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Buffy jumped. Her Mom must have jumped too, because there was an audible yelp and a thud that came from behind.

Dumbledore had returned with an old man. He had wide, pale eyes that shined like the moon through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," Buffy said awkwardly.

"Interesting, very interesting. You don't look much like your mother. You only have the colour of her eyes, not the shape. A little bit of the lips, oh! But the hair! Yes, yes, that enviable Black hair, Sirius had it too. Not to mention the nose! That infamous nose! However, you _must_ take after your father... Albus here told me about your... _elusive_... _heritage_..." said the man. He appeared delighted to have such an enigmatic customer and took his time to marinate on a few choice words.

Dumbledore gave him a stern look. The wandmaker quivered under his warning gaze and pushed on to the business of Buffy selecting a wand.

"Anyway, moving on from that... Ah, Regina Black, such a fine witch. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Twelve inches. Pliable. Made of hawthorn and the feather of a phoenix."

Mr Ollivander moved closer to Buffy.

"I have to say that agree with Gregorovitch's writings on hawthorn wood; that it makes contradictory wands as full of paradoxes as the tree that gave it birth. Trees whose leaves and blossoms heal, and yet whose cut branches smell of death."

Buffy wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were way creepy.

"Paradoxes and contradiction, hah! Intrigue and complexity. Those were the very definitions of your late mother, Miss Black."

Sitting in her rickety chair, Joyce looked uncomfortable. Buffy took notice of that and cleared her throat loudly.

"My _mother_," said Buffy assertively, her head jerked in the direction of Joyce Summers. "Is right over there. And my name is Buffy _Summers_. Regina Black was like, the woman who gave birth to me. My mother is the woman who raised me. My Mom is Joyce Summers."

Joyce exhaled in relief. Dumbledore didn't show it, but he was partly amused and somewhat proud of this young girl. If there would be anything to set apart Miss Summers from her biological father, it would be her extraordinary capacity for love.

The wandmaker shook his head abjectly. "My apologies, Miss Summers, apologies. Didn't mean anything by it. Just thinking out loud, trying to see what wand would be a good fit for you."

Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Buffy were almost nose to nose. Buffy could see herself reflected in those misty eyes. He was inspecting her face and was trying to hide what could only be aptly described as recognition and wonder and... fear?

"Well, now – Miss Summers. Let me see." He pulled out a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er – well, I'm like, right handed when it comes to writing-y thingies and stuff," said Buffy.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." Mr Ollivander measured Buffy from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head.

As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss Summers. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another witch's wand."

Buffy suddenly realised that the tape measure, which was measuring between her nostrils, was doing this on its own. The wandmaker was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then Miss Summers. Try this one. Elm and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Unyielding. Just give it a wave."

Buffy took the wand and (feeling like she showed up at school wearing some of last season's knockoffs) waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of her hands almost at once.

"Willow and unicorn hair. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –"

Buffy tried – but she had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr Ollivander.

"No, no – here, ash and phoenix feather, ten and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Buffy tried. And tried. She had no idea what the wandmaker was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the counter. The more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Another tricky customer, eh? Second one this year. Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – hmm, I already sold that holly one a fortnight ago. We'll have to go for a different unusual combination – I do believe that phoenix tail feathers are best suited – Regina Black favoured them, as well as... hmm – the way to go for you too, it appears – I wonder, now – yes, why not – birch and phoenix feather, thirteen inches, gracefully supple."

Buffy took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a blinding white light engulfed the tiny store. The light enclosed everyone in a comforting, tepid gust of wind and spread out, bathing the entire street outside with its glow.

The bright beams eventually withdrew. Joyce had her hand over her heart and was blinking hard, trying to get her sight back. She was seeing spots. Dumbledore, utterly unfazed, clapped his hands together and his eyes gleamed merrily.

Mr Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good." He turned to Dumbledore. "Albus, phoenixes do appear to be the trend for the... special cases, don't you agree?"

Dumbledore gave a small nod but didn't give a verbal reply. Buffy asked Joyce for her coin bag and paid seven gold Galleons for her wand. Mr Ollivander bowed them from his shop and the three of them left Diagon Alley for the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

It was early evening and clusters of stars blanketed the dark cerulean sky. The Summers women and Albus Dumbledore made their way back up Diagon Alley, through the wall and into the now empty Leaky Cauldron. Buffy didn't speak at all as they walked to their room, number nine.

She was having difficulty blocking out other people's thoughts and their feelings. It tended to happen at the most unfortunate of times, whenever Buffy was trying to focus on what was in her own head.

Buffy was distracted, thinking about the things Dumbledore had told her about the Black family and everything Mr Ollivander had mentioned about Regina Black. She didn't know what to make of all this new information.

She was told that she didn't look much like her mother, but Buffy already knew that. She had been in possession of that Polaroid picture of her birth mother in a plain hospital gown for as long as she could remember. Buffy spent a great portion of her early childhood staring at that photograph. She was determined to commit what she saw to memory, even though she never forgot a thing.

Buffy had been busy shopping for her school supplies all day, so she hadn't taken the time to closely examine her new appearance. Ollivander said that she had the colour but not the shape of Regina's eyes. She apparently had a bit of her lips. And her enviable hair and infamous nose. Buffy knew that great hair could definitely be cause for jealously, but how could a nose possibly be infamous?

There was one thing that struck out in Buffy's mind. The way in which Mr Ollivander started acting after mentioning her father. Not to mention Dumbledore's reaction to Ollivander's subsequent choice of words he slipped out.

Buffy wanted to know what that was about. However, she wasn't sure if she could handle any more knowledge about her mysterious past. Her 'elusive heritage'.

As an adopted child, Buffy always had such questions about where she came from. Then through youth coming and going, her questions lessened, being happily satiated with the family she already had. But now, after learning about magic and her birth mother, Buffy's curiosity was getting more difficult to quell. She had begun to integrate herself into the world that Regina Black had once belonged. Answers would become easier to find, but was she ready to hear them?

Buffy only realised where they were when her mom tapped her on the shoulder. Dumbledore helped Joyce put away her new belongings and then handed Buffy an envelope.

"Your train ticket for Hogwarts," he said. "First of September – King's Cross Station – all of the information is on your ticket. But on an additional note, there is some vital information that you should know about the platform. You see..."


	8. Eleven O'Clock

Buffy woke up at ten o'clock on the morning of September the first. It was an hour before she had to get to King's Cross Station. Not the best timing in the world. She was still suffering from jet lag, even though Buffy had been living across the Atlantic for over a week. It seemed to be that her internal clock refused to reset itself.

Yawning, but excited and nervous all the same, Buffy got out of bed and scoured for an appropriate outfit. Her favoured denim miniskirts were left behind in Los Angeles.

Buffy's unwillingness to wear skirts and denim had long ago ended because she couldn't live without them. Skirts were a passionate must and jeans a basic necessity in her life. But still, she just could not bring herself to wear a denim skirt anymore, after seeing that old man wear one in Rowling Lane a month ago.

Buffy pulled on some simple jeans and a new pastel blue, cashmere sweater. There was a lot for Buffy and her mom to do in the time leading up to her departure for Hogwarts. They were in a new country with over a week to spare, yet the Summers women spent most of it shopping in the Muggle streets of London.

Joyce ended up buying a lot of blue clothes for her daughter. Because Buffy's eye colour changed from the emerald green it had been for the last decade, to a metallic pool of blue after their Gringotts cart ride through the Thief's Downfall, the young witch preferred wearing the cool tone more often.

Buffy looked for a cute jacket to wear with her cashmere sweater. Layering was not task she was used to, but revelled in the fashion challenge. Growing up in the year-round sun of sunny Los Angeles didn't warrant any need for warm clothing. Buffy wanted to know what was wrong with this country because it was rather chilly out. It was supposed to be summer.

Buffy selected a nicely tailored, cream-coloured blazer to put over the top of her clothing because she didn't want to walk into the station whilst wearing her wizard's robes – she'd change on the train. She checked her Hogwarts list a final time to make sure that she had everything she needed.

Buffy had already packed all of her required daywear, nightwear, winter-wear, schoolbooks and equipment in her trunk. She saw that her onyx feathered owl Mr. Gordo was shut safely in his cage, asleep and softly hooting every so often – it was rare to find him awake and remotely functional during daylight hours. There wasn't anything left for Buffy to do.

Joyce was already awake. She ordered for food to be brought up from the Leaky Cauldron's pub downstairs for her and Buffy's breakfast over half an hour ago. Mrs Summers had already finished eating.

Her cell phone was in her hand and she was frowning. Joyce had checked with Tom the barman earlier to make sure nothing was wrong with it, and he verified that the Leaky Cauldron was far enough removed from the magical energies of Diagon Alley for Muggle electricity to function.

She checked for any messages or missed calls from Mr Summers in California. Apparently Hank wasn't even going to at least have a short chat with his daughter before Buffy went away to magic school for the year. Joyce was so frustrated with her husband.

"Morning Mom." Buffy sprightly bounded over to her mother, dragging her trunk along the shaggy carpet and carrying Mr. Gordo's cage. The eleven year old spotted a plate loaded with bacon and eggs and put her trunk and Mr. Gordo down. She was hungry.

Joyce tossed her phone away, irritated. She energetically put on a smile for her daughter, not wanting Buffy to think anything was wrong. "Good morning honey."

Buffy noticed the strained smile and chose not to say anything, and started to eat. She knew that was about her father. Her dad's already lacking presence in her life had dramatically lessened since Sabrina Simms' visit to their home in LA and the Summers family discovering that Buffy was a witch. Only God knew what Hank Summers was going to do when he found out his daughter's magic birth origins.

Hank was still avoiding his family and Buffy hated how it was straining her parents' relationship. Joyce tried convincing Buffy, until she was blue in the face, that her parents' fighting wasn't her fault. She didn't know what to believe. There was too much for Buffy to handle all at once, with magic, the Black's morbid family history and her parents.

Buffy scoffed down her food in a very unladylike fashion, and in record time. She wanted to leave for Hogwarts already. Yes, Buffy was upset about leaving her family and friends behind, but she couldn't help it.

For the first time in her life, she wouldn't have to hide who she was. Mostly. Buffy didn't exactly want the other kids to know that she could invade their minds on a whim, nor that she was related to a man who was sentenced to a life in Azkaban Prison for killing a bunch of Muggles.

"So sweetie, now that you've, um," Joyce paused and raised her eyebrows at Buffy. As usual, she was surprised at how quickly all of that food disappeared. It looked like Buffy had polished her own leftovers too. Joyce had never gotten used to the truckloads of food that her teeny, tiny daughter was able to consume in a single sitting. "Now that you have finished, I suppose we should go now?"

"Heck yeah! Like now!" Buffy beamed.

* * *

Buffy and Joyce Summers exited the room they had occupied for the last dozen days. They made their way downstairs and out of the Leaky Cauldron. Buffy and Joyce were able to catch a cab not too far from the entrance of the grubby pub.

The cab driver was unhappy when he was asked to load an unusually heavy trunk into the car's bonnet. The trunk was storing a plethora of spell books and a pewter cauldron, so of course such a response was predictable.

Buffy adored the trunk she picked out. It was initialled like everybody else's and was the same size and shape as what was expected. The difference was that hers was pink and may or may not have been purchased at a Louis Vuitton boutique in the heart of Muggle London's Mayfair district.

Hank Summers stayed in the US but his credit cards did not. Joyce didn't want Buffy to spend any more of her magical inheritance than she had to, but the both of them were in serious need of some major retail therapy. Ergo, Mrs Summers and her daughter perpetually shocked shopkeepers throughout London during their stay in England with Mr Summers' money.

Joyce and Buffy's cabbie was further displeased, also finding himself bemused after loading the 'LV' patterned trunk, when the two of them got into his taxi with a large black owl perched in a cage. Bloody fads these days, the driver thought to himself.

They reached King's Cross at quarter to eleven. The cab driver helped them with Buffy's pink trunk before driving off, shaking his head. Her trunk and Mr. Gordo's cage on a trolley, the Summers' wheeled it over to the red brick section between Platform nine and Platform ten.

Buffy took a deep breath and looked at her mom. "Well, here goes nothing."

Her heart was hammering. The brick looked very solid. Buffy walked straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. This wasn't logical, she was going to smash right into that ticket box. Leaning forward, Buffy quickened her pace – the barrier was coming nearer and nearer.

She wouldn't be able to stop now, even if she wanted to, because she was going too fast. The trolley was out of control. Buffy was a foot away when she closed her eyes, ready for the crash. A crash that never came ... she kept going ... she slowly opened her steely blues.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. Buffy could make out a sign overhead that said _Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock_. She looked behind her and saw a wrought-iron archway where the ticket box had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_ on it. She had done it.

White smoke from the engine wafted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to each other in a disgruntled sort of way over the loud babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

Most of the carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Buffy saw her mom emerge from the red brick barrier behind her, a stunned expression on her face.

"Magic..." Joyce stated, amazed.

"Yeah Mom, magic," she smiled.

Buffy pushed her trolley off down the platform in search of an empty seat. She passed on through the crowd until she found a compartment filled with other children her age. They had room for a few more. Buffy and Joyce put Mr. Gordo inside first, then started to shove and heave her trunk towards the train door.

With some help from a brown-haired boy with an underbite, they managed to tuck it away in a corner of the compartment. Buffy took off her cream jacket and threw it onto the empty seat, saving it, then faced the helpful boy.

"Thanks!" she said gratefully, flashing the brown-haired boy a megawatt smile.

Buffy turned and followed her mother out of the train to say her goodbyes, leaving the boy behind. The boy with brown hair and the underhung jaw realised just how incredibly pretty this girl was when her stunning grin shocked him. He suddenly became very pink in the face.

* * *

The two Summers' were standing closely together on the platform. Buffy slowly exhaled, taking in the sight. Her tiny arms were tightly wrapped around her mom's waist.

"This is it, sweetie."

Buffy nodded. This really was it. She was going to Hogwarts.

Joyce pushed away the dark hair that now tended to naturally fall onto her daughter's face. One of the magical waterfall in Gringotts' many after-effects, washing away the appearance changing spell that had unknowingly affect Buffy all her life. She kissed Buffy on the forehead and shed a few tears.

"Hey! No crying!" Buffy reprimanded, despite the water filling her own eyes too. She didn't want to, but she began to pull away. It was nearly eleven. "We agreed, no crying! And I have to go like, right now Mom."

"I love you my little Pumpkin-Belly."

Joyce gave Buffy once last squeeze and Buffy pecked her mother on the cheek. "I love you too, Mommy. See ya."

Buffy rubbed her eyes, refusing to cry. She waved back whilst clambering onto the red train, into the compartment filled with other equally excited first-year Hogwarts students.

* * *

Harry was sitting next to the window in his empty train compartment. He was half hidden, where he could see happy families exchange their tearful farewells. Harry was watching the red-haired family, which he had spoken to earlier, on the platform and could hear what they were saying.

The youngest boy had something on his nose and their mother had taken out a handkerchief to rub it off. The identical, flame-haired twins were teasing the younger boy and another older one. Apparently the eldest boy's name was Percy, he was a Prefect and was already wearing his billowing, black school robes.

There was a little girl with the group as well, too young to attend Hogwarts herself but was desperate to go. The twins made some kind of joke involving a toilet seat that made their mother cranky. The ginger-haired family then started talking about the black-haired boy who was near them on the station. They were talking about him.

Harry lowered himself in his seat and decided to gaze elsewhere. He looked past the red-haired family that helped him onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and out at the rest of the chaos on the station.

He greedily took in the scene, jealous of all the kids out there that got to be hugged and kissed by their parents as they said goodbye to their families. Harry had never felt so lonely.

Outside there were huffing children, arms crossed and upset that they weren't old enough to attend Hogwarts yet. He saw last minute stragglers rushing to get to a compartment and students waving out of doors and windows.

It was nearly eleven o'clock when Harry's green eyes locked onto a very small, dark haired figure, hugging a blonde woman who didn't look anything like her, when the youngest red-headed boy he was watching outside his window came in. The door of the compartment slid open and he pointed at the seat opposite him.

"Anyone sitting here?" he asked. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then quickly looked out of the window, pretending he hadn't done just that. Well, Hagrid did tell Harry that he was famous for something that he couldn't really remember.


	9. The Hogwarts Express

There were five first-years in the train compartment, including Buffy. She was sitting in between two boys. One was named Dean Thomas, who had dark hair and skin, and was quite tall for someone their age. The other was the brown-haired boy with an underbite who helped Buffy get her trunk onto the carriage. His name was Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Buffy was practically bouncing on her seat, bursting with excited energy. She was bored with sitting on the spot and was causing the group around her to become rowdy. Buffy was oblivious to the blushing she caused to rise on Dean and Justin's faces when she was talking to them.

"Nice to meet you Dean, Justin. My name's Buffy."

One of the girls across from her snorted. She had long, black hair worn in a plait. Aside from the style of her hair, she looked exactly the same as the girl sitting next to her. "Buffy? What in Merlin is that?"

"My name. But I get that a lot," Buffy said airily, brushing off the plait-wearing girl's reaction. She took note of what was said, her using the word 'Merlin' instead of exclaiming 'God'. The wizarding world was certainly different from her old life.

She cocked her head to the side in her old signature, dumb blonde manner. Buffy did that a lot at Hemery. "What's yours?"

"Pavarti Patil. This is my sister Padma." She indicated to the girl on her left.

"Nice to meet you," Buffy smiled sweetly.

There was no point in making enemies on her first day. Over the course of days waiting for September the first to finally arrive, Buffy decided that she didn't want to be the mean popular girl anymore. She was aware of how different she was after flitting through Sabrina Simms' thoughts and no longer saw any point in conforming.

Pavarti was stunned. She didn't know what this other girl was playing at. Pavarti had just insulted her name and Buffy was acting like it was the most normal thing in the world. She was even was being nice about it.

"Um, yeah," was all Pavarti had to say.

"So Buffy, you aren't from around here, are you?" asked Pavarti's twin, Padma, diffusing any potential tension. Padma was used to Pavarti running her mouth off. It seemed that the twin not wearing her hair in a plait, but a simple low ponytail, was the more level-headed of the two.

"Yeah. I mean, I was raised in LA and everything. I was born in England though. That's kinda the reason why I'm going to school over here instead of the one in Salem."

"I've heard of that place." Pavarti wrinkled her nose. "The Salem Witches' Institute. It's a girl's only school. No boys admitted. Such a shame. Be glad you're one of us."

Padma shook her head at her sister. "But they do have their own partner school not too far away. The Ipswich Wizards' Academy."

"I guess."

"What do you think Buffy?" asked Padma kindly.

Buffy casually shrugged. "I dunno. I don't know anything about the magical world, really. However, I am totally thankful that I'm not going to an all-girls school. Nobody told me about that! I would probably pretty much die from the lack of eye candy."

Buffy's last statement caught Pavarti's interest. "Eye candy?"

"Cute boys. Duh!" Buffy giggled.

The twins joined in on Buffy's laughter and before they knew it, the three girls were bunched together, getting along swimmingly. Justin and Dean were in their original seats, discussing what it was like for the both of them growing up. It turned out that Buffy Summers wasn't the only one in their compartment who was raised in a purely non-magical environment.

While they had all been talking, the train carried them out of London. The steam engine was speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a short while, watching the fields and lanes flick past, but that didn't last for very long.

Buffy couldn't sit still and had Dean, Justin, Padma and Pavarti up with her, moving and making noise again in no time. Their compartment was one of the more rambunctious on the Hogwarts Express, causing some of the school Prefects to stop by and quieten them down.

* * *

Around half-past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor, and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Buffy, who possessed an almost inhumanly fast metabolism and hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, leapt to her feet. The other kids bought a few things from the cart before she made her snack choices.

Buffy had a major sweet tooth and planned to get as many Twinkies and Twizzlers as she could carry, – she couldn't be bothered to unearth the massive candy stash she packed away in her pink trunk – now that her mom wasn't around to disapprove of her eating habits. But the woman didn't have any of the sort.

What she did have were Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans, Droobles Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands and a number of other strange things Buffy had never seen in her life. Not wanting to miss anything, she got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Pavarti, Padma, Dean and Justin gawked as Buffy brought it all back into the compartment and tipped it on to an empty seat.

"That's a lot of food Buffy," said Justin.

Pavarti raised an eyebrow. "Hungry, are you?"

"Totally starved!" she exclaimed, taking a huge bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Not much time later, jaws were wide open enough to securely fit a tennis ball inside each of her new friends' mouths. Buffy's carriage-mates were in disbelief, staring at the amount of food and sweets the compact eleven year old was devouring. As Buffy said in her defence, it had been a long time since she last ate and she was hungry.

"How can you be so tiny and eat all of _that_?" chuckled Dean Thomas, breaking into a fresh Cauldron Cake. Buffy smacked his hand and took the cake from Dean.

"Hey! Mine! Gimme!"

The Cauldron Cake was polished in under a minute. Padma and Pavarti were astounded that a girl who looked like Buffy ate more than a giant. Justin stuck to eating his own food, worried she would be hitting his own hands away next. Dean was laughing harder than ever and Buffy had moved onto the rest of the candy she had gotten from the trolley.

"What are these?" Buffy asked the Patil twins, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. They were the only ones in their carriage who were raised in the wizarding world. Justin was Muggle-born and had his name down for Eton prior to receiving his Hogwarts letter. As far as Dean knew, he was a Muggle-born wizard too.

"They're not _really_ frogs, are they?" She was starting to feel that nothing would surprise her.

"No," said Padma. "But see what the card is. They're collectible."

"Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them, you know, to collect," Pavarti continued. "Famous Witches and Wizards. We've got about six hundred between us."

Buffy unwrapped her Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long crooked nose and flowing silver hair, beard and moustache. Underneath the picture was the name _Albus Dumbledore_.

She laughed, causing stares from her new friends, once again.

"Dumbles never told me that he was on a Chocolate Frog card. That's totally sick as!"

Buffy turned over the card and read:

_Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts._

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern_

_times, Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for_

_his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945,_

_for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's_

_blood and his work on alchemy with his partner,_

_Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys_

_chamber music and tenpin bowling._

"He never told me how many awesome things he's done either," she mumbled. Buffy turned the card back over and saw, to her astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Pavarti. "He'll be back."

Padma was scrutinising Buffy, as if waiting for some important detail to come to light. "What did you mean, when you said that Dumbledore never told you he was on a Chocolate Frog card?"

"He was the person to show me and my mom around Diagon Alley to get my school things."

"Really? Are you being serious?"

"Yup," Buffy stated. "What's the dealio?"

"I didn't think that Dumbledore would have had time for things like that," said Padma simply. "He's a very important figure in the wizarding community."

Oh great, thought Buffy. She was an especially freakish freak, amongst other freaks of nature. Of course she would be singled out and was kept an eye on by the headmaster of her new school. This was going to be exactly like Hemery Primary School and those stupid 'special' tests.

Buffy watched as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on his card and gave her a small smile. She soon amassed her own mini collection of Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but was more interested in eating the frogs. When Buffy was finished eating all of her chocolate, she opened a bag of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," warned Pavarti, taking a break from swapping cards with Padma. "When they say every flavour, they _mean_ every flavour – you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. Padma, you reckoned that you had a vomit-flavoured one once, didn't you?"

Padma made a face. She was evidently reliving an unpleasant memory concerning said flavoured bean. Pavarti picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully and bit into a corner.

"Ewwww – see? Brussels sprouts!"

All of the first-years in their compartment had a good time eating the Every-Flavour Beans. Buffy got coffee, strawberries and cream, grass, smoked salmon, peach, butter and chilli.

* * *

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone, replaced by woods, twisting rivers and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the bushy haired girl that Buffy had met in _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_ came in. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anybody seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. Buffy never noticed this girl's voice being so bossy back in Diagon Alley.

"Hey Hermione," greeted Buffy.

"Oh, hi Buffy!" Hermione said, the bossiness in her voice vanishing.

"Sorry, no toads here," said Justin.

"Who's Neville?" asked Dean.

"Why would anyone _want_ to look for a toad?" questioned Padma.

"Why would anyone _bother_ to look for a toad?" Pavarti wondered aloud.

The atmosphere in the train carriage was fast becoming thick with awkwardness, so Buffy elected to leave with Hermione and help find the boy named Neville's pet toad. She left Padma and Pavarti talking with disdain about people keeping toads as pets, saying that they were out of fashion ages ago. Dean and Justin began to converse about their favourite football teams.

* * *

Buffy and Hermione caught up on what they had been doing since meeting in Diagon Alley. Hermione had followed through on her mission to learn all of the set school books by heart. Buffy had done the same. However, she couldn't bring herself to rain on Hermione's academia-loving parade and tell her that she only did so out of sheer boredom.

The girls eventually reached a compartment close to the end of the train. It was nearly empty. Inside were two other first-years. There was a boy on the left, small and skinny with jet-black hair and a thin face. He had bright-green eyes that reminded Buffy of her own before passing through the Thief's Downfall in Gringotts.

On the right was another boy, who had vivid red hair and a spot of dirt on his nose. He was tall, thin and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet and a long nose. The redhead had a snoozing rat in his lap and a raised wand in his hand when they entered.

Hermione was the first to speak up after their intrusion. "Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost one." Her bossy voice was back.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said the boy with the rat, but Hermione wasn't listening. She was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

Hermione sat down. They boy looked taken aback.

"Er – all right." He cleared his throat. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow." He waved his wand, but nothing happened. The rat stayed grey and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said Hermione. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. As I've already told Buffy, nobody in my family is magic..."

Buffy was leaning on the doorway throughout Hermione's interrogation of the unfortunate ginger who was attempting magic. She wasn't paying attention to the commotion going on. Buffy's head was suddenly met with an onslaught of emotions and past recollections that didn't belong to her. Unusual, because witches and wizards had more complex minds. That made them considerably easier to keep out of.

Buffy, trapped in these foreign memories, was momentarily reliving being cramped in a cupboard. She was pulling a spider off a pair of socks that she found under her bed.

She endured a great many more of these unpleasant scenes play out, unable to escape them. Many involved a pudgy blonde boy with a mean face chasing and punching her. A few had a bulldog chasing her on an evenly mowed lawn and, an especially memorable time, once up a tree.

Buffy experienced loneliness and misery that never seemed to go away. Whoever this person was, they didn't have the best childhood. The images she saw which made the most significant impression were the vaguest. They were hazy, like a damaged cassette recording. But still, doubtlessly discernible to her, there was a flash of green light and a high, chilling cackle, followed by the pleading scream of a woman.

What Buffy was represented with was beyond strange because all of it was almost familiar. She couldn't explain how or why. Buffy felt like she already knew this person, had known them her entire life. From a long time ago, maybe. Perhaps even from a dream, bizarre as that sounded – she did always have the most peculiar of dreams.

Buffy had successfully managed to tone down Hermione's incessant mental stream of consciousness during their pursuit of Neville's toad. Usually she had to put up with what could be compared to a low buzzing and faint flickers from others around her. It was an annoying deal but something Buffy could control the level of and normally ignore.

Not this. This was entirely different. Buffy could see, hear, understand and feel things as if she were this person. She was not just an invisible third party standing to the side, able to wander wherever she pleased. Buffy wasn't a parasite latching onto its host and absorbing as much as she wanted from what it had to offer. No connection she experienced had ever felt so close or so clear.

It took a long time to get hold of what was happening and focus on reality. Buffy used up a lot of effort, but was eventually able to get out of her head, shoving everything that wasn't hers into the background of her brain. That was insane! And those memories... not so fun. Whoever Harry Potter was, he had Buffy Summers's sincerest of sympathies.


	10. When Harry Met Buffy

"...I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

Harry looked at Ron and was relieved to see by his stunned face that he hadn't learnt all the set books off by heart either.

"I'm Ron Weasley," the boy with red hair muttered.

"Harry Potter," said Harry.

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

"Am I?" asked Harry, feeling dazed. His brilliant green eyes broke off from the bushy haired girl, roaming adrift, and locked onto the porcelain face of another. She was exceptionally pretty. Harry's dazedness kicked up a notch or two.

Unlike Hermione, she wasn't already wearing her school robes. She was shorter and sporting Muggle daywear, in a pair of plain jeans and a light blue jumper. Her huge eyes were screwed up, like she was trying to suppress a pounding headache.

It appeared that Ron too, was entranced by the small girl in blue. His facial features were slackened and his pet rat Scabbers had fallen off his lap, onto the floor. Ron hadn't realised.

Hermione remembered that she hadn't introduced Buffy to the boys yet. After several failed attempts to get their attention, she resorted to snapping her fingers right in front of their faces. By this point, the tiny girl standing in the doorway looked calm and her face was no longer bunched in pain.

"Harry, Ron, this is Buffy Summers. Buffy, I don't exactly know whether or not you were listening before, but this is Ron Weasley and –"

Harry didn't know why he was compelled to, but chose to cut in. "H-Harry. Harry –" He hesitated before completing his statement. Buffy was intimidating, and not only because of her good looks. "... Harry Potter."

He remained still and stared blankly into the raven-haired girl's hypnotising grey eyes. Buffy blinked a lot and grinned widely. Harry didn't catch that she avoided making regular eye contact with him. He did, however, see one of her dark eyebrows shoot up in amusement.

"It ain't no Buffy Summers, but I guess Harry-to-the-power-of-three-Potter is a nice enough name."

Scores of witches and wizards seemed to be in awe of him, but Harry was fascinated by this china doll-faced girl in front of him. Buffy spoke with a perky, thick Valley Girl accent that, somehow, humbly boasted a strong and commanding presence. She exuded an effortless, cool confidence and was instantly likable.

"Th-thanks," Harry stuttered. Great, he thought to himself sarcastically. This girl was turning him into the nervous, trembling Professor Quirrell that he had met back in the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid.

Buffy's eyes flickered queerly when she heard the name Harry Potter. Ron didn't notice anything, occupied with his blatant ogling. Harry did, though. He suspected it was because she, same as every other child raised in the wizarding world, knew about the famous tragedy that had befallen the Potters. Harry assumed that Buffy had heard the stories depicting him as some kind of miracle saviour.

She gave an enthusiastic wave to the redhead in the train compartment. "Good to meet you too, Ron."

Neither Ron nor Harry replied after that. They found themselves utterly unable to respond. Ron had never seen a girl so perfect looking, with her luminous, creamy skin, cherubic lips and captivating eyes. She looked like an angel. Harry himself, was doing his best not to blush.

Buffy carelessly shoved bits of dark hair, which hung over her eyes in a casual elegance, out of her face. It had an annoying habit of falling all over the place ever since she reverted back to her natural form. Her true appearance, which was masked by Regina Black's image changing charm – a spell that was cast upon Buffy on the date of her first birthday, just before she was given up at a Muggle orphanage in London.

Not aware enough of her surroundings to notice the silence in the carriage that was caused by her, Buffy decided that it would be a good idea to bound into the compartment and take a seat next to Harry. "So guys, how's the happs?"

Harry was scratching the back of his head. He didn't know if was a good idea to say anything more, already having made a fool of himself. Ron's mouth was slightly gaping and he was making no noise.

Buffy picked up a Chocolate Frog lying on her seat and jerked her head toward it, nonverbally requesting if she could have it. By the time Harry nodded, she had already bitten its head off. Buffy asked out of common courtesy but didn't really care if he was okay with her eating the frog – she was used to getting away with whatever she wanted. And in her opinion, it was more preferable to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission, anyway.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the boys. "So... do either of you know what house you'll be in?"

She got no reply, so the bushy-haired brunette pressed on, unfazed. "I've had a lengthy discussion about it with my parents and this nice fellow we met in the Leaky Cauldron. He explained the attributes that each of the Hogwarts houses favour. My family thinks that I'll be in Ravenclaw, but personally, I'd like to be in Gryffindor, it sounded by far the best... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

"If it's alright with you Herms, I think I'll chill here for a bit. Is that cool?" Buffy had already moved on to a second Chocolate Frog. She wanted to stay where the candy was and find out why Harry Potter had such an unusual mind.

"I suppose that's quite alright. I'll see you later then, Buffy," said Hermione, getting to her feet. "Remember though, you'll need to change soon, too."

"Yeah, yeah!"

And she left, shutting the compartment door behind her. Ron came back to his senses when it shut.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. He threw his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell – George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud." He uncomfortably looked over at the pretty girl who was eating what was left of Harry's chocolate. "Sorry Buffy, I didn't, I mean, if she's your friend –"

"Don't worry about it." She smiled whilst unwrapping a third Chocolate Frog. "I get that she's intense and everything. But she's a good person, really."

Ron looked sheepish but was still peeved at Hermione.

"W-what house do you think you'll be in, B-Bu-Buffy?" interjected Harry nervously.

"Hmm... not a clue. According to some stupid tests I had to take back at my old school, people told me that I was like, smart and stuff – although that was a regular, non-magic school, mind you. That means I might be in Ravenclaw, right? They're the smarty-pants house.

"Although seriously, I don't see it. Apparently I have the capacity to be like, all intelligent or whatever, but it's not like potential actually means anything. It's what you end up doing with what you have that matters, and I'm super-duper not into the effort-ness or attention-paying when it comes to classroom-using, textbook-y school-type thingies. Honestly, it doesn't really matter much to me, what house I'll be in."

What Buffy told Harry and Ron was true. She reflected over the comprehensive facts Hermione had enthusiastically recited to her back in the wizards robe shop, and thought that each of the houses her new friend got around to describing sounded favourable in their own ways.

Hermione had told her about the histories and past students of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Buffy reserved her judgement on Slytherin for later. The Granger girl hadn't gotten up to talking about the final Hogwarts house before she was finished getting her long black robes fitted and left the store.

Harry was interested in Buffy, and not just because she was beautiful. The lively first-year said that she went to a Muggle school too. At least he now knew for a fact that what Ron told him was true and he wasn't alone. Buffy was one of the loads of people going to Hogwarts who came from Muggle families.

A minor detail about her struck Harry. If Buffy was raised in the Muggle world like him, then how did she know about his family and Voldemort?

Buffy didn't seem to be the type of person who would choose to bury her nose in books, nevertheless ones about wizarding history, eagerly waiting for school to start like Hermione. Either news about his presence must have spread really fast, or the girl with bushy brown hair must have said something.

"Y-yo-y-you didn't know that you c-could do magic until recently, either?"

"You too, huh?" Buffy giggled. Harry nodded.

Ron clapped him on the back. "I told you, mate."

"Yeah. I totally thought the lady who came to my house was like, cat lady levels of crazy before I believed her. She was all, 'I work in a special school in Massachusetts called the Salem Witches' Institute and 'we are both witches, Buffy. I am like you'. Like seriously? How not of the norm does that sound?"

"The Salem Witches Institute?" he asked. As far as Harry knew, he had only been invited to learn at Hogwarts for his magical education. Harry didn't know about other schools that taught magic.

Ron nodded. He seemed to know what Buffy was talking about.

"I'm sure that your ears are all like, good enough to tell you that I'm not from around here, right? Way distant-y, like across the pond kind of far. The place of red, white and blue with the stars and the stripes."

"Yes," said Harry.

"The deal is, I was born here in London, but I was raised and live... or I guess now it's lived, in sunshiny LA. I haven't actually stepped foot in England since I was adopted as a tiny tot."

"So what about your p-parents?" Harry wasn't stuttering because he was nervous this time. His childhood was complicated too. He recognised her from the train station. Buffy was the small girl who was hugging that blonde woman on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Harry was curious to know more, but he wasn't sure whether or not he was in a position to pry. Lucky for him, Buffy's rambling gave the impression that she was more than comfortable relaying her whole life story to Harry and Ron.

"My mom's great! I mean, she didn't give birth to me or anything like that, but she's still my mom. I'm not so sure about my dad right now, though," she said sadly. "I thought he cared about me, but then there was this whole big thing with wizarding laws and some magical Ministry or whatever, – actually, that would be the supernatural in general – and I don't see him so much anymore..." Buffy brushed off her sorrow and plastered on a dazzling smile.

She didn't have a frilly-heck as to why she couldn't stop talking. Buffy was unable to come up with a reason behind her trusting these relative strangers. Buffy felt like could tell them just about anything, Harry especially. Because of the life he had led and the good person she already knew he was, Harry was someone she connected with in the flashiest of flashes.

"...I mean, he should care, right? Whatever. Anyways, I don't know much about my birth parents. Professor Bumble-dumble told me he knew my birth mother a long time ago. But she's all like, dead and has been for a while now. I didn't get any specifics about it," Buffy babbled on, omitting the finer details and not wanting to mention the Blacks. "As for my biological father, I've got a big, fat zilch. It's becoming a trend for me to have sucky father figures, I swear! Unfortunately for the two of you, the entirety of the male gender isn't looking so good from my point of view at the moment."

"Wow."

"Huh?"

"Wow, that was a lot of words," whistled Harry.

"Sorry I've been going all Chatty Cathy on you guys. I've turned into Hermione, haven't I? It's easier to tell your problems to people you've just met, I guess," she said abashed. Buffy looked down at the floor – she didn't reveal how much she happened to know about Harry. "I've kinda bottled up a lot of things lately. I feel sorry for the next poor stranger I encounter the moment I have another meltdown-y, verbal spazz. There is a large possibility for an encore."

Harry and Ron grinned at her, and she gave a strained smile back.

Harry felt bad for Buffy. He knew that he had it worse, though. Or did he? His parents were murdered in front of him when he was an infant, which was pretty horrible, but he didn't remember it. Harry did not know what had happened that caused Buffy to be put up for adoption. And it seemed she didn't have a single clue either.

Harry, having only the Dursleys and his dead parents to bring up in relation to families, turned to Ron. "What house are your brothers in?" he asked.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him. "Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw _would_ be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the house Vol– I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

Buffy looked confused. "Who's a Who? This isn't a Dr. Seuss reference, is it?"

Harry and Ron's eyebrows shot up. Ron didn't get her reference to the famous Muggle children's book author.

Harry's trail of thought took a different path to his carriage-mate. Surely Buffy knew about Voldemort. That had to be why she looked at him so funny.

"Blimey Buffy," exclaimed Ron, "You don't know about You-Know-Who?"

"Duh! That's what I just said. Muggle raised American here! Gosh," she said, tilting her head. Her silky tresses flopped over and around her small, perfect face. "What's the huh with this You-Know-Who, who I don't know what is?"

"Huh?"

"Sorry?"

Harry and Ron were bewildered at Buffy's speech.

She next spoke slowly and clearly at the two boys, like an adult would a young child. "What – is – a – You – Know – Who?"

"A Dark wizard," Ron said, shuddering. "A very bad, Dark wizard."

* * *

"That is totally the stupidest name I have ever heard in the history of like, ever!" snorted Buffy. "How do people not butcher it every time they try to say it? How does _he_ not? I'd probably end up accidentally calling myself Mouldy-warts half the time. Voldemort, seriously?"

Dissimilar to Harry, Ron gasped at Buffy's newfound source of hilarity. Harry was unsuccessfully restraining his own attempts not to join in, letting out a mild chortle. Voldemort may have been a Dark wizard who committed countless crimes against humanity (not to mention his own family), but he had to agree with Buffy. The name 'Voldemort' did sound rather ludicrous.

Buffy saw the aghast look on Ron's face. "I'm sorry dude. It's just that it sounds so ridiculous! If you want to strike fear in the hearts of wizards everywhere, that is seriously not the name to go with."

The boys – mostly Ron because he grew up in a family of wizards and hearing about such things – spent the last fifteen minutes telling Buffy about You-Know-Who. The terror he spread throughout Great Britain's wizarding community and the masses of people he killed a decade ago. She was appalled to hear what this man and his followers had done. Eradicating droves of people simply because they weren't birthed from a magical heritage. That was beyond retarded in her opinion.

So this was Harry Potter, she mused to herself the whole time. Buffy was subtly searching him, taking in every external detail and trying to look everywhere but his brilliant green eyes. She didn't want to experience another psychic sledgehammer to the noggin. Harry looked so normal. There was nothing to indicate why his thoughts and feelings had bombarded her so.

Buffy was interested to hear the Potter's history with Voldemort. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had tried to kill Harry when he was a baby and failed, leaving behind nothing but a scar.

Maybe that was why Harry's head was so unusual. Voldemort's killing curse had done something to his, leaving it vulnerable for hers to so thoroughly penetrate. Or perhaps it was made stronger. Harry's mind did very nearly consume her, almost swallowing Buffy alive with no chance for escape.

She would have been suspicious of Harry, and pulled another Sabrina Simms invasion, if it weren't for Buffy somehow knowing that he was unaware of his capabilities. Buffy was still actively concentrating on pushing away his overwhelming consciousness, but very surely knew her inference was correct. She just did.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers's whiskers are a bit lighter," said Harry, trying to shake Ron out of the shock Buffy and her flippancy put him in. "So what do your oldest brothers do now they've left, anyway?"

Harry was pondering over their previous conversation and was wondering what a wizard did once he'd finished school.

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles –"

During their discussion about You-Know-Who, Buffy had expanded on her childhood experiences and what life was like being raised by Muggles in the United States of America. She mentioned her adoption but kept any details about the Black family to herself.

"Someone tried to rob a high-security vault," Ron finished.

Harry stared. Buffy was only mildly curious. She had concluded examining the boy with the lightning-bolt scar and was paying more attention to the last of the untouched Chocolate Frogs.

"Really? What happened to them?" Harry asked.

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Harry turned this news over in his mind. He was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. He supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying 'Voldemort' without worry. Presumably partly due to Buffy comments about it sounding so silly.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Er – I don't know any," Harry confessed.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "How about you, Buffy?"

Buffy rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Brought up by non-magicky-people in a non-magical-world here! Hello?"

"Oh you wait, it's the best game in the world –" And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players. Buffy had an easy time understanding everything because she could visualise in her mind the thought processes of what Ron was telling them. He followed the game with a great passion and his excitement made the layers of Ron's brain, in relation to it specifically, all the clearer.

Ron described famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. He was just taking Harry and Buffy through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again. It wasn't Neville the toadless boy or Hermione Granger.

Three boys entered and Harry recognised the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop from the trip he made to London with Hagrid for his school supplies. He was looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying it all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing either side of the pale boy they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to Harry.

"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong soft. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you."

Both Harry and Ron stood up. Ron's face was as red as his hair.

Buffy rose faster than either of them, rounding on Malfoy before they could put their two cents in.

"I'm sure he's fine with that, Drakey. Riff-ness and raff-ness are all the same to any of us. However," she paused, gleefully smirking at this white blonde-haired jerk, "We will be praying, desperately hoping that none of the peroxide on your head is what rubs off."

Buffy couldn't help her well-practised, inner mean girl from lashing out. She did not want to be the same humiliation-inflicting bimbo she was at Hemery, but this guy really rubbed her the wrong way. Draco Malfoy reminded Buffy a little of how cruel she could be to the non-popular kids at her old school. His behaviour made her ashamed of herself.

Malfoy and his cronies hadn't taken notice that there was another student in Potter and Weasley's carriage. He was going to promise that his father heard about this. Draco didn't know what peroxide was, but was sure that he had just been insulted by... the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes upon. The pink in Draco Malfoy's cheeks deepened.

No one had a chance to respond or retaliate because Buffy took all of them by surprise. Using their bafflement to her advantage, she miraculously managed to manoeuvre the three unpleasant boys out of their compartment and then whipped out her wand with impressive haste. Buffy murmured, "Colloportus" with it directed at the door, which she swiftly closed.

"Huh. That actually worked... What a poop-head!"

"That was bloody brilliant!"

"Wow."

Buffy grinned at the boys' admiration and nonchalantly went back to her seat. "I picked up a thing or two when I read through our school books last week. I got bored."


	11. The Scottish Highlands

Harry peered out of the window. It was getting dark. He could see the mountains and forests under a deep-purple sky. The train seemed to be slowing down.

Much to his and Ron's chagrin, Buffy was whisked away from their compartment some time ago by Hermione Granger. They were nearing Hogsmeade Station and needed to get changed into their school robes. She had left the two slightly crestfallen boys, complaining about the 'majorly' unattractive bulkiness of their uniforms.

Harry was sad to see her go. There was something about her that caught his interest. He racked his brain, trying to pinpoint why and what it was, but couldn't. Harry almost felt as if he knew Buffy Summers from before, when or where, he wasn't sure. He just felt in his gut that he somehow did.

He and Ron took of their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Ron's were a bit short for him, you could see his trainers underneath them.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the little last of their sweets – courtesy of Buffy, there were no Chocolate Frogs left – and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way towards the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here! All right there, Harry?"

Hagrid's big, hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Except for Buffy and her very American voice that could be heard from the back of the group, nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "Jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!".

A high and distinctive, "Oh my freaking god!" came from Buffy. That caused many, including Harry, to chuckle.

The narrow path had opened suddenly on to the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione. Harry was disheartened not to have Buffy accompany them.

His eyes searched all around, finally spotting her a short distance away. Buffy was happily chattering to a small group surrounding her without a care in the world. Eventually she was ushered into a boat, carelessly sprawled next to a tall dark skinned boy, another with brown hair, and a girl wearing her hair a ponytail.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself, "Right then – FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, even Buffy, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out on to rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last on to smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

* * *

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Buffy's first thought was that this was not someone to cross, resulting in her arms crossing and a pout. If this lady was going to be a teacher of hers, then Buffy was more than likely going to have to do work. She knew that this was going to be totally not of the good for her flighty, slacker ways.

"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The Entrance Hall was so big you could have fitted the entire Beverly Center in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Buffy could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must already be here – but Professor McGonagall showed the first-years into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would have usually done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, you house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes..."

Buffy's attention to the strict Professor waned. This was sounding very similar to what she had half-listened to Hermione prattle on about when first meeting her in Diagon Alley. Blah, blah, 'house' ... blah, whatever ... 'noble history'.

"...at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered on Buffy for a moment, after looking at Ron's smudged nose and Neville's cloak up and down – which was fastened under his left ear. Buffy assumed it was because her skirt was worn slightly higher than the rest of the girls and her dark hair had once again returned to its favourite spot. All over her face.

Buffy didn't mind that her real hair fell into her eyes with a casual sort of elegance that would have been not easily achieved beforehand. Buffy even somewhat like it, but this was getting annoying. Such is the price of undeniably cool, Kate Moss-y-type hair, she sighed to herself.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Buffy spotted Hermione standing by Harry and Ron, and she made her way toward them. The tiny eleven year-old giggled when she saw Harry swallow. She understood his tension, and not just because Buffy could sense the nervousness he was projecting. This situation was nerve wracking.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

"He better have been," said Buffy, coming up to them. "Me and pain and tests! We are way unmixy things."

Buffy felt like her heart was giving her an unpleasant shock, but she knew that wasn't the case. It was Harry whose heart gave them both that horrible jolt. He was worried about performing a test in front of the whole school. She was a little uneasy herself, but didn't know why he was so concerned.

They were first-years who didn't know any magic. It wasn't like the school was expecting them all to display marvellous feats the moment they arrived.

Buffy rolled her eyes. Apparently she was the only new student who remained calm and composed. She looked around and saw that everyone else looked terrified. No one was talking except for Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learnt and wondering which one she'd need.

Buffy wasn't listening to her. She was rather preoccupied with evading the almost insurmountable thoughts and feelings rolling off the children around her in great waves. There were so many, too many. Their anxieties were beginning to crush her and it was getting overwhelming. So much for more complex minds being easier to shut out.

Harry saw that Buffy was making a painful face, similar to one she had on in the train.

Then something happened which made Harry jump about a foot in the air. Buffy forgot her troubles and laughed again. Several people behind them screamed.

"What the –?"

Harry gasped. So did the people around them. An onset of cold air swept through the chamber. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to each other and hardly glancing at the first-years. They seemed to be arguing.

What looked like a fat little monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first-years, "And follow me."

Overcoming any vestiges of nerves from other first-years that hung back in her mind, Buffy held her head high and sauntered out of the chamber. Nonchalantly, she strolled with her fellows back across the hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Buffy had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. She was reminded of the cars she levitated back home in LA when Sabrina Simms had come to visit.

These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the Hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first-years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight.

Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone like misty silver. Enthralled, Buffy looked upwards and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. She listened to Hermione, who was walking next to her, whisper into her ear, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens. Buffy had never seen so many stars. She was strictly a city girl and they couldn't be seen because of the amount of metropolitan outdoor lighting that shone wherever she was when the sun set.

Buffy quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first-years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. It was so not Buffy's choice for best fashion accessory of the year.

Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Buffy thought wildly. Although, Professor Simms did say that the bunny and top hat cliché wasn't actually a done thing.

Noticing that everyone in the Hall was now staring at the hat, she stared at it too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing:

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_Se try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Buffy could hear Ron whisper to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

She warmly beamed at Harry's weak smile, attempting to reassure him. Ron's irritated comment didn't appear to have dispelled his jitters.

Buffy had to stifle a giggle. She made a number of boys around her blush. These boys were so stupid. Buffy's smile had never caused this kind of reaction back in LA. Okay, that wasn't entirely true. It did once or twice, and a few more times on top of that, but no biggie. Maybe it was just because they were British. If so, British guys were weird.

Oh right, Buffy thought glumly. She looked different now. Buffy didn't see what the huge deal was. Her blonde stands of sun-shiny gold had transformed into sheets of black silk. The honey glow of her Californian tan was replaced by flawless alabaster. So what? She looked different now, big whoop!

Buffy was unsettled by this Sorting Hat. She wished that they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Buffy didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment.

Sure, she was bountiful with her witty banter, never at a loss for words. And she had confidence – a girl isn't able to wear a cropped tank top and low-rise jeans together without having any. Buffy just didn't feel as if she fitted into any of the Hogwarts houses' categories.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. Buffy wistfully recalled the Barbie doll-like hair she used to have before that trip to Gringotts. She missed being a blonde.

There was a moment's pause –

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Buffy saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy," went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Buffy could see a set of flame-haired twins catcalling. Ron nudged Harry and she heard him say something nondescript, mentioning the boisterous twins being his brothers.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Buffy's imagination, after all she'd heard about the badness of Slytherin, but she thought they looked an unpleasant lot. Some people seriously needed to turn their frowns upside down, or risk the ick of their faces sticking that way.

She was starting to feel definitely sick now. Buffy didn't mind the attention, she was used to it. Being the leader of her 'it-girl' clique at Hemery was good preparation for keeping a cool head under the spotlight. What she wasn't alright with was the prospect of wearing a hat that could look into her mind.

Buffy was fairly certain that only Professor Dumbledore knew how... _different_ she was in comparison to her classmates. She wanted it to stay that way. This Sorting Hat could ruin everything. Buffy didn't want to be singled out again, or at least not for her troubling birth family and _unique_ magical prowess.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Buffy noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus", a sandy-haired boy close to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Buffy flashed her a smile of encouragement. Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head. Buffy grinned. That girl certainly had her funny quirks.

Hermione reminded her of a nice girl, with hair as vibrant a red as Ron's, who she was rather mean to at Hemery Primary. Buffy didn't bother to learn her name. She frowned at how nasty and shallow she used to be. Buffy had resolved to change that aspect of herself, now she had a fresh start.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

A horrible thought struck Harry, meaning that the same horrible thought struck Buffy too. She was in the process of coming to a conclusive hypothesis, but had so far deduced that the closer a proximity Buffy had to Harry, the higher the chance there was of her picking up on his stronger emotions – when Buffy putting in her best efforts to close herself off from them.

Harry was worried, wondering what would happen if he wasn't chosen at all. Well duh, of course he was going to! His weirdo brain was plain evidence of that, Buffy thought exasperatedly.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted "GRYFFINDOR", Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag".

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and was sorted at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself. Buffy wasn't at all surprised in which house that 'Jerko' Malfoy was placed.

There weren't many people left now.

"Moon" ... "Nott" ... "Parkinson" ... then the Patil twins who Buffy met on the train, "Patil" and "Patil" ... then "Perks, Sally-Anne" ... and then –

"Potter, Harry!"

Buffy shot another grin at Harry. This one must've been Hollywood film star, megawatt-worthy or something because the bespectacled first-year tripped over his robes on his way to the stool – not dissimilar to Neville's embarrassing blunder.

Buffy bit her sparkle-glossed bottom lip, unsure what to do. Surely it wasn't her fault that all of the British boys she had encountered thus far were so easily intimidated by a girl. There was no way that any of them would survive the old Hemery Buffy. Boys were fun, manipulable playthings to her not too long ago.

After the tripping incident and getting back to his feet, Harry stepped forward. No one was laughing at his humiliation. In its place were whispers that broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

Poor Harry, people knowing one's private business. Now that was the kind of attention Buffy wanted to avoid. She could only imagine the whispers that would follow her, should the Hogwarts student body learn about her relationship to the House of Black. An illustrious, old wizarding family with a sinister history as dark as its name.


	12. The Sorting Hat

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look of him and Buffy smiling. This time, a more demure smile. She didn't want to risk him falling off the stool. See, Buffy Anne Summers was fully capable of personal growth, she proudly praised herself.

Harry's feelings were high with concern and Buffy was drawn into his head again. Like on the train, she couldn't stop herself from experiencing what he had. Buffy was living what he was in real-time, as it happened, not going through the motions of past memories like on the train.

"Hmm," said a small voice in their ears. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting ... What's going on? That's never happened before ... I'll deal with _you_ later ... But never mind that for the moment ... So where shall I put you?"

When the Sorting Hat spoke about dealing with '_you'_ later, Buffy knew it was talking about her. She could only hope that Harry had no idea what the hat was actually referring to.

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and Buffy was drawn away from her fretting. She was looking at the black inside of the hat and thinking thoughts that weren't hers once more. "Not Slytherin, not Slytherin."

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that – no? Well, if you're sure – better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry and Buffy heard the hat shout the last word to the whole Hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily towards the Gryffindor table. Thankfully, Buffy's mind wasagain her own.

Harry was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. A Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while Ron's brothers yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff they'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water. Buffy's connection to Harry was raw and still wide open from the stress of his sorting, causing her to shiver.

* * *

As Harry saw Hagrid catch his eye from the end of the High Table and give him a thumbs-up, Buffy counted the number of remaining first-years milling around her. There now were only four people left to be sorted. Professor McGonagall's following words indicated that it was her turn next.

"Summers, Elizabeth!"

Ron, who was huddled next to her because there were so few of them left, looked to the only other girl standing with them. He didn't know that 'Buffy' was a nickname. More than a nickname, in Buffy's opinion. It was a preferred name because Elizabeth sounded so... well, as she accidentally and untactfully blurted out to Dumbledore the night she first met him, 'boring, old and English'.

With an effortless poise and displaying more bravery than she had in that moment, Buffy casually approached the stool. She was so small, that even with all of the thick hair Buffy had recently (re)acquired, the hat drooped well past her eyes and covered her mouth.

She couldn't see it because the Sorting Hat was obscuring her view of the Hall, but some of the students watching in front of her took notice that the Headmaster had leaned forward in his large gold chair. Situated in the centre of the High Table, the silver-haired Professor Dumbledore rested his bearded chin on his wrinkly fingers.

His eyes were more focused on the miniscule girl currently waiting to be sorted than they were on the famous Harry Potter. Whispers again rose, this time to a lesser extent. The hissing in the Great Hall was coming from spouted questions rather than admissions of admiration and fervent anticipation.

"I don't understand. Why is he looking at her like that?"

"She's _very_ pretty – looks like she could be in our year, if she weren't so damn tiny. You could see it all the way from back here, before she put the hat on."

"Why would Professor Dumbledore be paying more attention to that little girl than _the_ Harry Potter?"

Buffy didn't sense that the air around her was fast becoming thick with intrigue and speculation. The Sorting Hat completely blocked everything and everyone out. She hadn't felt such peace in over a year, before her mind invading abilities cropped up. The tranquillity didn't last long before the hat's small voice started speaking to her.

"Sneaking around in Mr Potter's mind... that wasn't very polite of you, Miss Summers. Or should I be calling you Miss Black? How about Miss _Whiteley_, hmm?"

"Well, you're the wisdom-ous Mister Thinking Cap," she thought snarkily, "Surely you are all-knowing enough to know what my real name is and the fact that my 'sneaking' wasn't exactly done by choice. I'd give anything to be normal again."

"Yes... hmmm... I do see that is apparent. Right _now_, at this _time_ Miss Summers, you don't know how or why you are able to do the things you do, and such extraordinary things you can! And _will_... Salazar and Rowena would've given an arm, an eye and a bucket of phoenix tears to snatch you up!"

"I would like, really, really appreciate it if you would pretty please, not put me in Slytherin."

"Why no –"

"– I'll even add some warm chocolate fudge, whipped cream, nuts, sprinkles and a shiny red cherry on top of that pretty please, for you not to put me in Slytherin!" she added desperately. "Real or maraschino?"

"Like I told Mr Potter, Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness. It certainly did Regina Black."

Buffy's ears must have misheard. If they did not, wouldn't that mean Regina was bad or something? Was she inherently evil, herself? Her birth mother was a Slytherin. Buffy didn't want to adhere to old house prejudices, but the general air of haughty unpleasantness that came from the direction of the green and silver clad table on the right side of the hall wasn't helping in her opinions.

The Sorting Hat was still speaking, "Yes, she most definitely was..."

She didn't want to be Miss Mean Girl anymore. Ron had told Buffy on the train that the Slytherins were a bunch of pure-blood supremacists like that Mouldy-Shorts guy. They belittled all those they deemed beneath them and thought themselves better than everyone else.

"...but don't base an entire house on what – hah, another one! – Mr Weasley has told you. Oh my, Regina Black. She was one of a kind, she was. Much like you. You however, my dear, are infinitely more so. You have no idea Miss Summers, the _potential_ you have..."

"God," Buffy whined internally, "Or I guess that's 'Merlin' now, right? Whatever, dirty-hat-dude. If you're going to harp on about my smarticle-ness like the grown-ups at Hemery and those nerd institutes in the States who graded those pointless tests, I'm gonna –"

"Now, now Miss Summers, please. No need to get upset here, how about we just focus on your Sorting?"

"Alrighty then." Buffy begun tapping her foot on the stool because her tiny legs couldn't reach the floor.

"It's _funny_ that you dislike the mere thought of being placed in Slytherin, Miss _Summers_. You may not have the ambition, but your willingness to do whatever it takes to get what you truly want... it's such a shame, however, I suppose that... hmmmm...

"Then Ravenclaw, perhaps? Let's see here, you have an unparalleled plethora, untapped reserves of intelligence just waiting to be used. You are incomparably smart, yet you don't find much importance in intellect, that is most curious, Miss Summers."

"That's me! One with the not-wanting-to-be-freakishly-smart and all the curiousness!"

"You could do so much –"

"– Uh huh, but I'd like to actually fit in," she interrupted. "You know, have friends and a life and stuff!"

"You are a talkative one."

"Yup, us ugly Americans are a frightfully chatty bunch in comparison to you stodgy, stoic English people."

"I may be a hat, but I'm going to be the mature one here and ignore that comment, and crack on. In all my years... _you_ are truly one of a kind Miss Summers. I've only ever argued with a student like this once before... oh youth, time is a funny, funny thing, Miss _Summers_."

"Hey! You're the, uh, thing here that keeps going on about how unique I am! If that's your belief, then I guess I'm allowed to be the definition of different-ness without any complaints. And why do you keep on saying my name like that? It's creepy!"

"...Hmm, the unwavering loyalty you show to those who prove they deserve it, though very rare and few those have been, that's interesting. It's too bad your work ethic is so erratic, you'd make an unusual but fine addition to Hufflepuff. It takes quite a lot to motivate you, doesn't it?"

"I am so totally motivated to do things!" Buffy felt insulted. "Just ask my gymnastics teacher or my figure skating coach."

"Yes, yes. But... ahh... that is very, illuminating... odd, I didn't quite catch that last time, or maybe things were changed, altered... the likelihood of it should be insurmountable," the hat was mumbling more to itself than Buffy at this point. "However, the greatness of the possibility, the probability of it... the _potential_ in you...

"You're so concerned about fitting in, being normal, being like everyone one else... it's almost poetic. Unfortunate really. Hmmm, right then, hm, right. You think you know what's to come, what you are. You haven't even begun. I know the perfect place to put you –"

"You better not be throwing me to those grumpy green wolves – frown lines are a big no, no. As long as you're not chucking me in Slytherin, we're five by five. Huh, I've never used that expression that before. Wonder where that came from? I swear I've heard that in a dream or somethi –"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Buffy was pleased. She was also confused about the last couple of things the Sorting Hat mentioned. All of the Hat's 'potential' nonsense was a little disconcerting. And apparently Buffy, in all of her uniqueness and specialness, doesn't know what was to come or what she was.

That was way weird. 'You haven't even begun'. Well, yeah! She was only eleven years old and had the rest of her life ahead of her.

The way the hat talked to Buffy was kinda wiggy. It was like it personally knew her, and not just because it could see into her mind. The Sorting Hat was speaking all with the cryptic. Talking to her as if they had done so before, which was impossible.

Buffy was joyous not to be in Slytherin. The knowledge that Regina Black was in that house of snooty elitists was disturbing, though. She hoped that she was nothing like her. Dumbledore didn't tell Buffy or her mom much about her birth mother, but if Regina was anything like Draco Malfoy or that megalomaniac Voldenball...

There was that saying, if the shoe fits...

She didn't want to think about that tonight. It was Buffy's first time in the magnificent Hogwarts castle. She was making new friends and wasn't as alone in being so different anymore. Buffy was going to enjoy herself.

Buffy lifted the Sorting Hat off of herself, raising it above her tiny head. The hat then contracted, looking like it was being squeezed. It suddenly became heavy. Professor McGonagall was gripping the pointed tip of it for the next student, when there came a glint of sparkling green and glimmering gold.

Buffy pushed herself out of the stool with the reflexes of a jungle cat and stretched an arm to the side. She was expectant, sure that something was going to drop. With what was like instinct, Buffy knew what was going to happen next. She thanked the years of gymnastics training she had undertaken to aid her Dorothy Hamill aspirations and cheerleading preparation. How else could she have possibly done that?

A metallic object, long and hard, fell out of the frayed Sorting Hat. Buffy grabbed in her hand a gleaming golden sword, its handle glittering with emeralds the size of eggs. Odd that the sword was encrusted with emeralds, she mused. Buffy was sorted into Gryffindor and green was Slytherin's colour.

Displeased with the unusualness of the situation and rumours of non-good-funkiness that were going to follow her around after this, she quickly handed the gold sword off to Professor McGonagall. Averting stares, Buffy rushed to the Gryffindor table and sat down, next to Hermione.

If she hadn't left the green jewel embellished sword in such a hurry, Buffy would have noticed a peculiar engraving along the blade. It was a notably idiosyncratic impression that also partially lay under the dark hair on the back of a one Miss Summers's head.

The mark was curiously intricate in design and baroque in execution, very nearly life-like. It slithered down from the back of Buffy's scalp to just below the nape of her neck, twisting and turning to form the shape of an 'S'.

The light blemish, on her otherwise spotless, porcelain skin, was a birthmark and bore a remarkable resemblance to a scaly snake. A birthmark that was a faint, serpentine score – uncovered by a magical waterfall approximately two weeks ago.

* * *

The students in the Great Hall were buzzing with gossip and convoluted theories. Buffy Summers's sorting was the cause. For the first time since meeting her, Harry saw a real chink in Buffy's breezy, blasé exterior. She was crudely hiding the irritation and confusion that the hat had caused her.

Buffy hastily handed the golden sword she caught to Professor McGonagall and sped off to join Harry at the Gryffindor table. She sat right across from him, next to Hermione, and kept her head down. Harry thought Buffy would have relished the attention but he was proved wrong.

She was incredibly bubbly in his train compartment and socialisation was easily demonstrated to be one of her fortes. When the first-years were in the small chamber off the Great Hall, waiting to be sorted, Buffy was the only student who kept a level-head – something Harry was sure wasn't an act.

It was quite the change, Buffy's current behaviour.

Harry tore his almond-shaped eyes away from the newest addition to Gryffindor house and gazed back at the High Table and the Sorting. He didn't want to be caught staring at Buffy. She was clearly feeling uncomfortable enough already.

After the Buffy-Summers-Sorting-Hat-sword-incident, it took a while for everyone to settle down. There was a delayed applause, as students were momentarily somewhat speechless and didn't quite know how to proceed. It wasn't as loud as the welcome Harry had received whilst leaving the wooden stool at the front and finding a seat amongst his new housemates.

Children and teenagers everywhere started loudly exchanging opinions with their neighbours, some down their table, and others across the length of the hall. The teachers remained silent and respectful, waiting for the last of the Sorting, but were exchanging looks of astonishment.

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned and she looked sternly around at the noisy students to quieten them down. Her strategy worked well. The stern face of Professor McGonagall could melt entire Polar Regions.

Harry saw that Albus Dumbledore had leaned back into his large gold chair in the centre of the High Table. The wrinkled, withered fingers from both of his hands were still joined together, but they were no longer resting under his long bearded chin.

Dumbledore appeared reposed, yet also looking like he was deep in important and meaningful thought. His bright blue eyes were scanning those under whom he was Headmaster of. They subtly swept throughout the Great Hall and kept on returning to the same table on the far left side of the hall. The red and gold of the Gryffindor table.

Harry recognised Dumbledore from a Famous Witch and Wizards card he'd gotten out of his first Chocolate Frog on the Hogwarts Express. The legendary, old wizard's silver hair was the only thing in the whole Hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Except for perhaps Buffy's radiant raven locks – he couldn't help from noticing that they were impossibly shiny. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Turpin, Lisa" became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him. Buffy had returned to reality from the insulated, thoughtful recesses of her heavy thinking. She was back in the moment and clapping too.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously across Harry as "Zabini, Blaise" was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. It glinted under the candlelight like the golden sword Buffy caught falling out of the Sorting Hat. He had only just realised how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties he ate on the train seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had got to his feet, his contemplative expression gone. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we being our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not. A lot of the other first-years appeared to be in the same boat as him, not doing anything.

"Is he – a bit mad?" he asked Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he like to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup and, for some strange reason, mint humbugs.

Eyeing them warily, Harry dared Buffy to eat a humbug, unwilling to try one for himself. He and Ron laughed when she accepted their challenge and bit into one.

"Blergh!" Buffy's eyes clamped shut, her face scrunched up and she stuck out her tongue. "So not of the yum!"

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, but he'd never been allowed to eat as much as he liked. Dudley had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick. Harry filled his plate with a bit of everything except the humbugs and began to eat. It was all delicious.

Directly across from him, Buffy's plate was piled twice as high. Harry wondered if she was actually going to eat all of that food. He was, as well as many other Gryffindors near them, astounded when Buffy restocked her rations for an equally large amount of seconds.

A tall, dark skinned boy that was with Buffy on one of the boats during the first-years' sailing across the Black Lake to the Hogwarts castle, made a humorous crack about how many pumpkin pasties and sweets she managed to load on aboard the train. Harry learned that his name was Dean Thomas.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak.

"Can't you –?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you – you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would _prefer_ you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy –" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"_Nearly_ Headless? How can you be _nearly_ headless?"

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.

"Like _this_," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell on to his shoulder as if was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly.

All of the Gryffindor first-years, save for one tiny girl with black hair, was either taken aback or absolutely disgusted. Or both.

Buffy inquisitively squinted at the sight and slightly cocked her head to the side. She wasn't masking the recognition in her huge blue-grey eyes. How Buffy ever found a severed head recognisable was very puzzling indeed.

Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back on to his neck, coughed and said, "So – new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindor have never gone so long without winning. Slytherin have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming unbearable – he's the Slytherin ghost."

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the puddings appeared. Blocks of ice-cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding ...

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half and half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mam didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The others laughed.

Nobody except for Harry noticed Buffy's face twitch and a shadow of sadness pass over it when Seamus brought up his dad. He remembered what she had told him about her adoptive father on the train. The Dursleys had begrudgingly taken Harry in and never let him forget it. He was used to their absence of love.

Buffy's dad, on the other hand, had chosen to be in her life and loved her like his own. At least he did until he received solid evidence that his daughter was abnormal. That she was in fact, a witch.

To never have known familial love or to lose love that was supposed to unrequited. Harry couldn't decide which was worse. He felt bad for her predicament. Buffy said that her dad had even gone so far as to avoid and stop talking to her and her mother.

On Harry's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about lessons ("I _do_ hope they start straight away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult –"; "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing –").

Buffy hadn't joined in on any of the conversations around them, despite sitting next to Hermione. She was focused on eating her food. Buffy was still bright-eyed and acting cheerful, but hadn't been the same since coming into contact with the Sorting Hat.

Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore, undoubtedly discussing the golden, emerald adorned sword placed before them. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes – and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

Buffy wasn't looking at the High Table like Harry, but attentively at her pudding. A lot of apple pie and several scoops of vanilla ice-cream. Yet she squealed and clutched her head at the same time Harry felt that stinging.

"What is it?" asked Percy.

"N-nothing."

Buffy didn't reply. She merely smiled weakly and returned to her desert.

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had got from the teacher's look – a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teachers Potions, but he doesn't want to – everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Harry watched Snape for a while but Snape didn't look at him again. He moved on to mentally questioning why Buffy had experienced pain the exact same time as he did. Harry could've sworn Buffy knew what he was thinking about in that moment.

She gazed up at him with a perturbed look on her paled, perfect face during his personal ponderings. Buffy's features quickly changed to a ditsy indifference, leaving Harry very confused and a little suspicious.

At last, the puddings too disappeared and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The Hall fell silent.

* * *

**INCMPLT - TBC SOONISH**

just letting you all know that i'm going back to the beginning and changing a few things (probs won't be for a little while though). i'm a little nutso about things, so i'm sorry for all the spazziness.


	13. SORRY SORRY SORRY

i'm going back and making a few changes. the next time i update, things will probably be a teensy bit different. please don't hate too much. i'm a little obsessively nutso this way.


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